Stranded- a Romanogers fanfiction
by avengergirl1306
Summary: Steve and Natasha found themselves stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere with no way to contact their outside world. Secrets will unfold as they struggled to survive and kept themselves from driving towards insanity.
1. Waking Up

"Natasha." The whisper was faint and breathy; the pitch was low and she could feel the wisp of carbon dioxide blowing harshly against her face. Hot breath with a strong scent of salt. _Who's talking?_ He sounded familiar but she simply couldn't get herself to think.

She couldn't feel her own body. The weight of her hands, her feet, the feel of her own skin; they're not there. And she's horrified by the realization. _Wake up_ , she told herself, and kept telling herself. _Open your eyes, damn it!_

"Wake up." The voice asked, his breath blowing to her face, ragged and desperate. "Please, please, please wake up!"

 _I'm trying!_ She wanted to say. _I'm here, I'm here with you, oh person-I'm-not'sure-who_. But instead she just felt numbness; this hollow void inside her core and no matter how hard she tried to swim inside her irresponsive mind to tap awake her nerves, she couldn't. She wanted to scream, to break free from the invisible bind. _WAKE UP_.

Then she felt pressure against her lips. Followed by a hard press with such force that jolted her limbs awake. She felt the blow of air to her mouth; the heat of his body was now growing stronger as her senses started to heighten. He was giving her CPR.

There it was. Light. She saw the light as her mouth choked out water and her eyes popped open. Sand. Rough, coarse, and white; sand. There's sand all over her, beneath her, sticking to her wet skin and drenched clothes and messy hair. She took a deep breath, sucking in all the oxygen that she desperately needed. Her blurry vision started to clear out, and that's the moment when she finally realized the presence of the other person right by her side.

"You're alive!" He chuckled happily, scooping her to his arms and laughing loudly out of pure joy. She was still in the midst of recalibrating herself, partially incapable of thinking but she could make out her surroundings well enough. They're on a beach, palm trees and all. The sky was a mixture of orange and purple, the sun was sinking and the reflection was mesmerizingly gorgeous over the endless blue water ahead of them. Beautiful but seemingly stranded. And they're the only ones there.

"What happened?" She asked weakly once he let go of her. She almost fell wobbly back to the ground if he didn't help her get on her feet. Tall, blonde, blue eyed, built. Oh. Steve.

Steve. Steve Rogers.

Wait…wait a minute.

She's alone with Steve Rogers, in the middle of nowhere, both of them still in their full uniforms and they're both soaking wet with seawater. How did they end up here? Why? She has so many questions that came popping up in her head and Steve could read the confusion in her eyes right away.

He was frowning with concern when he said, "you don't remember, do you?"


	2. Fire

The sky turned dark really fast. They didn't seem to have any surviving kit with them; that, she learned right away, so she put up with him when he said they didn't have time for stories; yet.

With the little time they had they set up a fire by the beach, and he helped her craft a simple spear out of a sizable thin branch that he'd cut with his precious shield. By the time night fell and everything else but those among the campfire light turned to a shade of black, they both had taken their uniforms off and set them to dry; no shame needed when it comes to survival. It was cold and their stomachs were growling with hunger but there's not much they could do right now, he said.

So there they sat, across each other with the fire in the middle separating them; both hugging themselves from the cold but both equally to shy and proud to just admit that they wished the other could get closer so they could cuddle for warmth.

"Where are we?" She started, after their numbing silence. Her voice was becoming hoarse; she longed for nothing but water at the moment. She stared at the fire, a red flower licking air restlessly, wishing she was home alone in her apartment, with hot chocolate in her oversized sweater. When she glanced at him she found his blue eyes in the dark, giving the same hopeful stare at the fire, looking like he was thinking of being someplace else; anywhere but half naked and stranded at night by a random beach with freezing breeze, no water, and no food, only accompanied by a half-friend half-stranger whom he only knew a thing or two about and would probably never talk to if it were not for their common occupation.

"Somewhere in the North Atlantic. Maybe. I don't know." He muttered. She could tell he was thirsty by just hearing the sound of his voice. He glanced back at her with wonder. She let him look into her eyes; he won't find much anyway. "What's the last thing you remember?"

She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. It was as if the thing she wanted to say was right there in front of her but whenever she tried to grasp it, it turned into a blurry, dark mist that she only wished she knew what of. "I know that you're Steve. And I'm Natasha, and we're members of The Avengers."

His frown grew deeper. "That's it?"

She tried to think harder. The more she tried to think, though, the more painful her head feels. She needs sustenance, something to regain her energy back. There are memories. Scattered ones, of times that has happened in her life, but with no specific timeline. She wondered what might've happened to her that has made her like this. "We… battled in New York together. And Sokovia. Then there's that incident with The Winter Soldier…he's" she stopped. He leaned forward, waiting for her words. Her eyes widened. "He's your friend. Bucky? Bucky Barnes."

He slowly nodded, pursing his lips. "Yes he is."

Another face appeared in her mind. Then more faces, followed by more memories. "Clint Barton is my best friend. He saved my life once."

She noticed a change in his eyes. She saw hopefulness. His dry pink lips trembled when he asked, "what do you remember about _us_?"

She tried to remember. She kept staring at his eyes, trying to grasp whatever memory she could hold. "I kissed you once. On that escalator. You jog every morning and I'll pick you up by the Washington monument. Then after that we'll have briefings. For…missions."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"You had a hard time trusting me… right?" her forehead creased deeper as she tried to think. She knew he wanted her to say something specific. But she simply didn't know what. There's just nothing much to tell in her memories. She hates this; what happened to her? Why is she having such a hard time remembering things? She knows her memories have been tampered with, she knows there are a lot of things missing from her head, and she knows he could fill the gap. But she wants to remember it herself. She wants to scratch the memories back to the surface. She wants to know how they ended up here. When she looked up at him again with shame and evident disappointment, he stared back at her with a subtle look of shock and a tint of sadness that soon painted his whole face blue. "I'm sorry." She admitted, feeling her face growing hot, as if she was about to cry.

He let out a deep sigh and looked away to the deep, dark jungle by their other side. "It's a long story."

"Tell me anyway."

He looked at her intently before he began. "We had a mission to take down an organization experimenting on children to create superhuman soldiers. The organization was a myth but someone who lost their son reported it to SHIELD and Nick Fury, somehow decided to believe him. We investigated it further, me, you, and Sam, but we got compromised. It's all a game of politics, you see; we found the organization and we saw the testing on children but we got caught at the wrong place, the wrong time, and we ended up having to cover our own asses in a trial. We lost the case, but we ran away just before they could put us to jail. Nick Fury helped. It was just the two of us who made it out. Sam's in prison while the whole team; Tony, especially, took a blind eye and didn't believe what we had to say. So we did our own little investigation. Got intel that they're shifting their whole operation to Brazil by taking everything and everyone in a cargo ship. We got on the ship, proceeded to take down the entire crew and we claimed the ship ours, we did, but--" he took another deep breath, "but, I don't know, I don't know how they found us out-- but a bunch of soldiers climbed on and some of the children turned on us-- and when they all came out they took us off guard. They brainwashed some of the kids, too. Turned them into… monsters." She could just see the horror in his eyes as he replayed the memory in his head. He was now looking back at her, his eyes hollow but there's still sorrow in them that she could see. "I tried to fight them off but they were too strong; even for me. They took us captive, ran tests on us. None of them worked on me but some worked on you" He stopped, had his breath caught in between his words. She saw what was coming next; she knew that at one point that sorrow in his eyes would manifest into tears and so when it did; when a bulb of tear ran down the side of his face, it did nothing but kept her where she sat and unable to move, unable to think of what to do. Even with all her missing memories she knew she'd never seen him cry; not like this. And it hurts her. The sight of him crying _hurts_ her.

But she couldn't think of anything else to do but to ask him, "then what happened?"

"They tied you up and chained you to an anchor and they had me watching as they threw you into the ocean; only so they could time it. Can you believe it? _Time it_. They were testing on a serum to supposedly make you breathe underwater."

She couldn't believe she had no memory of that. "But you saved me."

He slowly nodded a tiny nod that was barely there. "I went crazy, I suppose. Fought them off and just jumped into the water without thinking; but it was the only thing I could do, you see; and they were shooting at me, too."

"You saved me." She murmured, finding herself rising up from where she sat, circling the fire so she could reach him, and gave him a hug from the back. His skin felt cold but she knew she had made the right move by coming closer to him. He placed his palms over hers and rubbed his cheek against hers, signaling her to be right there, be with him, be his warmth. Be the warmth that both of them solely need. "You swam all the way and got us here?" she asked softly, her breath tickling his ear. It's so intimate, being this close to Steve Rogers. It's so intimate that it felt odd, but she didn't care. Not right now. Not when it felt this good.

At first they just stayed there, frozen like immovable stone, enjoying the heat that grew on their skins from the constant contact. She knew he cherished it as much as she did, and as the night grew older they found themselves lying on the sand, bodies tangled together, his huge frame curled around hers so he could shelter her for warmth. They were both hungry; he let out a chuckle when he heard the sound of her stomach grumbling and she teased him when she heard the same noises coming from him, too. "We'll find something in the morning," he promised, slowly and carefully wrapping an arm around her back, pulling her close. She nuzzled her nose over the skin of his chest, just a gesture she could give him out of comfort. As far as she remembered, they were never this close. Sure, after the fall of SHIELD they grew to trust each other more, but still not at all like this. This is too close, too personal. Too…loving.

But she didn't spend much longer caring; they both fell asleep until the soft warmth of sun peeked and rose onto the horizon.


	3. Surviving

Steve Rogers really was born as a leader. Assertive, but not to the point of overbearing. She witnessed that firsthand right from the beginning of their partnership, but it wasn't until this morning that she gathered her thoughts around it.

Right in the morning, he disrupted her train of thoughts with a simple demand for her to put on his uniform top over her black widow suit. "But you'll be shirtless." She tried rejecting the offer but he insisted. Either it was chivalry or some kind of twisted 40s male-dominance-complex she's not sure, but he was nevertheless right, for she wasn't feeling that physically well despite their balmy tropical surroundings. She might be growing sick, even. So another layer of clothing won't hurt.

It might be too dark to notice anything last night, but the first thing she noticed in the morning was the fact that their bodies were covered with islands of fresh bruises and red dots of syringe needles that drove her mad when she realized she couldn't remember anything that happened to them on that ship Steve told her about; hell, she didn't even remember they took on that mission, she didn't remember being charged in court with Steve and Sam, she didn't remember bailing away from prison. _How can you not remember?_ She kept asking herself while they slowly ventured into the tropical jungle with Steve leading the way. The leaves on the ancient trees were thick above them, creating shadows down below and only letting tiny rays of sun pass through tiny gaps between. As far as they could hear they could only hear the sound of the waves down the beach and whistles from the birds up above. No civilization, still, and she grew worrier.

She was hungry, sure; but first and foremost she was so thirsty that simply licking her dry lips was not enough.

They finally found water, though; they bolted towards the sound of the waterfall tofind the satisfying view of a freshwater lake; the water was so amazingly clear that you could see the rocks down the bottom, and when they knelt by the lake and took their first sips, they couldn't care less about potential of toxicity or the fact that the water tasted so raw; unlike tap water back home. They were too thirsty.

"We should probably cook the water first." She suggested, kneeling by the lake and drinking greedily. When she turned to Steve, the man was scooping water in his hands and splashing it all over his bruise-filled chest, finding herself lost in the sight for a moment until he glanced at her with a satisfied smile. They finally accomplished something. They've found water. It's a progress."Yeah? Cook it with what?" He has a good point there. They have nothing, absolutely nothing to hold the water, much less over fire. She pursed her lips together and stared back down at her vague reflection on the now-still water, looking at her messy crimson locks, all tangled and undone. She looked horrible yet she couldn't find herself to care. They're obviously screwed; if she heard him right, that means they're fugitives back home, which also means they're officially disbanded from SHIELD. No SHIELD, no reinforcements. No one's gonna look for them, let alone this far out of the country. Judging from their surroundings, she predicted they must be somewhere around the stretch of the Caribbean; that's if they're lucky. They could be way more far out, someplace too small to be on the map, someplace never discovered by anyone. God knows where. They have no communication devices, no flare guns, no surviving kits, no anything; and if all her premonition was right they would be stuck here forever.

"Hey, we'll get through this, okay?" His steps tapped and creaked the grass as he stepped closer. She quickly looked up and found his blue eyes, staring down at her with concern before he finally sat next to her, spreading an arm and pulling her to a calming hug. When she looked into his eyes she could also find the desperation, the regrets. The same one she was wearing. She tried to frame back her puzzle of memories, picking up pieces she could gather and tried placing them in a quick timeline just so she could contemplate about something. Anything. Everything. How did they end up here? Who to blame for this? _What's your last memory?_ She looked away from his piercing blue eyes. It's too much. Just… too much. Too much to take in, too much to understand at a time. She enjoyed the warmth, though. The warmth radiating from his skin and the feel of his fingers slowly tangling themselves around hers. It's a nice distraction for now.

Steve kept his eyes on her for a while longer until he realized she's not going to say anything back to him and so he looked away, too, to the waterfall that she had been gazing upon for the past few minutes. It's beautiful. The top where the water came from wasn't so high above, he bet they could find a way around and climb up there if they wanted to. Maybe that's what they should do today. Go around and explore. _Oh, no… wait._ He looked down at their tangled hands and reminded himself that her skin felt so strangely warm. _Too warm._ She's sick. Of course he noticed this since last night when he tried so hard to keep her sheltered at night, to hold her and make sure she wasn't cold. Even then he noticed that her body felt just slightly too warm. When they woke up in the morning she was a bit wobbly, too. Too wobbly for Natasha Romanoff. "If you need anything just let me know, okay?" He murmured softly, letting her head fall limply to his shoulder while her fingers squeezed his hand tighter as her response. At least the sun was shining above them. He loves the tingling warm feeling that it's been giving them since they arrived at the waterfall. There aren't many trees around this particular area so that the sunlight could just fall on them. "We'll camp here tonight, what do you say?"

"Okay." She replied softly, sounding so tired and beat. He didn't blame her; they both haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning. And prisoner food in that ship wasn't anything good either; it looked like some kind of sticky, stale, rice mixed with canned dog food. They've been eating that for the past week; it's the only thing the ship crew would give them.

He asked her to stay put even when she kept insisting that she wanted to help him; he basically used his shield to cut down a bunch of small tree stems and trunks; those that looked big enough to be considered sturdy but small enough for him to carry. With all of the tree parts that he managed to cut and brought down to the lake, they both arranged a simple structure, cone shaped like Native American tribal houses and incredibly small but given how cold it got last night, a tight space wouldn't probably be such a bad idea. He let her help despite his personal reluctance about it. She could be very persistent and arguing with her at a time like this would be the last thing he wants to do. When their work was done the sky turned tangerine and they stared at their work with tired but satisfied smiles on their faces. They still haven't eaten anything yet, but they've accomplished two things, at least.

"So do we hunt or do we look for fruits?" He asked her once they sat across each other inside the structure. They've discussed about what's the best name to call it; definitely not a house. It could be a tent, a natural tent. But then they decided that calling it a hut might be the best idea.

"I haven't seen any animals around here." She shrugged. "But we should keep our eyes open, still. We don't know anything about this island yet."

He nodded with agreement. "You should stay here and rest. I'll go figure something out."

"Steve"

"Listen, you being sicker than you already are would just make it worse, okay? I want you to get better. Then and only then you could help me." He cut her off with a stern voice. She looked back at him with the same stubbornness in her eyes but her face softened after she'd heard his explanation. She simply nodded and said, "Just be back before it gets dark."

"I will. I promise."


	4. Breakout

"Someone is here to see you." The warden knocked hard on the hard rusty metal of Sam Wilson's cell bars. The non resonant noises woke the falcon up from his restless sleep and so he let the warden walk him to the visiting room, gestured for him to sit by a booth facing a familiar man sitting to his opposite, parted by the soundproof glass. _"Pick up the phone."_ The man mouthed. This is interesting. He certainly wasn't expecting any visitor to ever come at all; much less Nick Fury himself. Yes, you heard that right; _The_ Nick Fury.

Of course Nick wasn't dressing casually; he was wearing a pair of shades, a beer-branded cap complimented by a blood red coat that definitely didn't suit his personality at all; maybe that's the point. To hide. To not be seen. Because even coming here was actually the stupidest decision he could possibly make given the situation that he was currently in. But yet there he was, visiting Sam Wilson in prison although it might cost him his freedom and life.

Sam kept his eyes on the older man, waiting for what he has to say. Nick's voice was calm as he started, "Red and Blue. MIA." Okay. So that's it. Right to the point, no chit chat, no bullshitting. Nick Fury had a message to say and he wanted to make it quick.

Sam squinted. Did he hear that right? Red, Natasha. Blue, Steve. MIA. Missing in Action. Missing. _To…where? Why? How?_ Questions started forming in his head.

"I need your help." Nick's face stayed flat and expressionless although his voice showed a hint of desperation. "It's been two weeks."

"Not when I'm caged like this."

Fury leaned forward. "I took care of it."

"How?"

"Wilson Fisk." That's it. Two words that changed everything. Sam froze where he sat, it took him some time before he finally digested the words down his stomach and it crumbled with nervousness when the words finally seeped in. They're using help from Wilson Fisk, as in a crime lord, as in the Kingpin of this hell hole, a king of the most crooked parts of the city. They're playing a different game now; they're not playing clean.

"How did you get the deal?" Sam asked quietly, almost baffled by the new information.

"Exchanged it for intel."

"What intel?"

"Barnes' whereabouts."

Sam threw himself to the edge of his seat. "You know where Barnes is?"

Nick slowly nodded.

"Steve would be pissed about this."

"He won't be."

"How can you be so sure?"

Nick formed a crescent smile. "You'll see."

* * *

Sam returned to his cell only to find the intimidatingly tall and broad figure of the infamous Wilson Fisk blocking the door frame, two of his tattooed goons standing scrutinizing behind him. All of them stared at him like he was a harmless prey just waiting to be skinned. Fisk was tall and broad, stocky and bald and oddly docile looking, to everyone's surprise. It was as if his track records of murders were faked documents; but it's not. Fisk was a ruthless son of a bitch and Sam knew that very well despite only having spent about two weeks in the penitentiary.

"Sam Wilson. The Avenger. It is an honor to meet you." Fisk nodded at him, gesturing him to walk by his side. Sam complied. Fisk was so tall that Sam only stood as high as his shoulders.

"I've heard quite a lot about you too, Mr. Fisk."

Wilson Fisk scoffed. "I bet you have. So tell me, how important are you that a failed SHIELD director turned criminal needed to break you out?"

"What, is it too much trouble for you to just show me the exit and get done with it?" Sam answered defensively, not afraid by the threatening ambience that suddenly grew around his surroundings.

"Oh, no, no." Wilson Fisk stopped by a door and pushed it open, smilling so cunningly at Sam with his tiny eyes piercing threateningly and lips forming a sinister thin line. "I just feel that we _strong men_ must stay together; for your own good." Once the door was open wide rays of sunlight bursts into the claustrophobic halls, sounds of the city thick and oddly soothing outside the door. Sam gave one last look at the Kingpin before he turned away wordlessly and walked towards the black SUV that he knew was waiting for him. He thought about what Wilson Fisk had said and he wondered what was the meaning within his last words. But he soon let it go after he jumped in to the shotgun seat, relief with the revelation that it was Nick Fury behind the steering wheel, looking calm and composed as he always does, but unbelievably quiet, too.

"Tell me everything I missed." Sam demanded as they drove back towards the crowded traffic of New York City, blending in with the busy crowd.

"Rogers went after the cargo ship. Took Natasha with him. They never returned. Can't trace them either for some reason. I got word from a contact that the cargo ship arrived yesterday in their destination with a few crews missing due to an unnamed incident−"

"Which was probably caused by Steve and Natasha."

Fury hummed in aggrement before he continued, "but there were no signs of the two."

Sam kept his gaze on the busy traffic road. "So what do we do first?"

"First we go to my place." Fury quipped, puncturing through packed traffic like an aggravated sloth. They were quiet the rest of the way; he knew that Sam was worried about their two friends as much as he was but neither of them were the expressive type so that there wasn't much to say. He simply hoped for the best and wished that Steve and above all else- Natasha are doing okay, wherever they are. Soon the crowd of cars thinned out and they came closer to a suburban area, one that Sam could never imagine Nick Fury would reside in. They pulled over by a normal-looking house with an open front yard decorated with old, faded-painted garden gnomes, with colorful flowers decorating around the fresh green grass and a yellow painted walls with an ugly red roof and white wooden door. Nick twisted the keys and entered. Sam followed behind him and took a look around. This house looked… normal. Too normal.

Then he heard footsteps and a low pitched voice of a man, saying; "I finished all the bacon hope you don't−oh." The man stood there by the kitchen entryway, looking at Sam Wilson while Sam looked at him with a shocked look.

"Hi," the man waved with a blank look. "I'm Bucky."


	5. The Lake

**Author's Note**

 **Hey y'all! If you're reading this I just wanna say how much I appreciate it! This one chapter is the one I find most difficult to write by far; I had a lot of doubts writing it. But I decided to write it down anyway, and decided that it fits well with the rest of the story I'm planning to write in the near future.**

 **Warning for softcore smut!**

 **Also, if anyone would be kind enough to write a review, that would be superb :) :)**

Steve made sure not to get lost in the woods by carving simple cross marks on the trees. He had mosquito bites all over his torso and arms and was only equipped with his signature shield. By now he was carrying a dead tapir slumped on his shoulder; he killed it by bashing his shield at it. Luck was on his side; he'd found an area in the jungle where animals were more likely to be at. At one point he was even sure he heard a tiger chuff and a growl. He saw no signs of predators around so far, though. Truth be told he hated killing but he didn't have much of a choice.

He kept telling himself that Natasha would expect him to be back soon, but he just couldn't seem to stop wondering what was more to explore around here. The sky was now a mixture of purple and red, but deep in the jungle, covered by all the leaves on the trees there was barely light. Steve kept walking, crushing twigs and stomped the fallen leaves as he stepped towards what seemed to be nothingness. But there was something inside him, though; something that told him that he should keep going because he might or might not find something interesting.

After some time he stopped himself from going further into the thick black shade of the jungle ahead and decided to turn back. _Enough exploring for today, stay safe._

The sun was gone by the time he got back to the lake. The only lighting he had came from the stars and moonlight above; all sparkly and mesmerizingly beautiful. But he hated the quietness of it all; hated how it was so obvious that they were alone in the middle of nowhere and the blatancy was sickening. He was tired; tired from walking and hunting and searching and tired of being here. Tired of feeling so anxious and worried all the time. Tired of feeling…lonely. He's not, though. Not technically.

He found her, the pretty little red-headed assassin; curled inside their shelter in the dark, sleeping so peacefully quiet. He had _her_. She's a _someone_ he supposedly could talk to, although not about everything. It's only been two days but god damn it does he wish he could figure a way out of here.

He set up a fire and made another spear with things he could find; his knuckles all worn and dirty and rough from the savage works that he'd been doing these past few hours. He stuck the stick through the tapir's mouth, all the way to its behind and roasted it over the fire. All nice and simple, disgusting, but simple.

"You should have wake me up. Let me skin it." Natasha's raspy voice perked his ears. _Oh, she's awake now_. He turned and found her staring at the poor creature burned above the fire, a blank look in her clear green eyes. "You've done a terrible job at it."

Steve pursed his lips, growing irrationally aggravated by her statement. _But why, though?_ He doesn't remember himself as a type of person who gets worked up over complaints. But never the less, part of him just wished she could be more appreciative about the whole thing. "I don't have a blade."

"I do." She stepped in closer to his proximity, and by the time she sat by his side and rested her head on his shoulder he realized that just for a moment he finally found his peace; a comfort upon his messy heap of mixed feelings. A part of him wished he could just press his lips against hers right now but common sense stopped him. He wished she had her memory back but then again he didn't because if she did she wouldn't think twice about not talking to him. What _happened_ before their lives went this crazy isn't exactly how he wanted her to remember him.

She curled an arm around his and squeezed his hand, voice flowing softly when she asked him how he was holding up. "Fine," he answered quietly but he knew she didn't buy it. She didn't ask him anything else, though, and he was wordlessly thankful for that. He knew she could read easily that he wasn't in the mood to talk at all and so they stayed quiet. She let him tangle his fingers around hers, curling and squeezing her hand like he wanted to never let go. He needed comfort and he needed to be convinced that everything's going to be okay, but she couldn't do that. She could lie to him but he wouldn't believe her.

Night passed, slow like molasses and sickening like a bad beer. They tear off a leg from the tapir and ate together like Neanderthals; so hungry and inhumane but neither of them could care less. She noticed how he kept throwing looks at her and it didn't take her long to take the hint; she roughly knew _what_ he had in mind but also felt -- in the back of her mind; felt that she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't dare to act upon it. It felt gloomy and depressing to be here, and the idea of pulling him to let him strip her naked was tempting but she knew that she shouldn't; a part of her kept telling her that she had to keep things simple while sex would do the exact opposite.

But some point at that night, though, when she was busy trying to cover up what's left of the half-burnt tapir with leaves and branches, she heard the sound of water splashing and could make out that he just stepped into the water in the distance. She didn't know why but before she knew it she was walking closer towards the lake; stopping to find his boots and uniform pants scattered on the ground next to the water. He hadn't noticed her presence; was busy swimming around with his back to her. The lighting was dim and the water was dark but she could see how his skin glistens and how his blonde hair was wet and how oh-god-he's-so-hot; an argument ensues within her head, a contemplation between what's wrong and right, what sounds fun and what sounds wise. The lines between them fogged to a blur and her head was soon filled with scattered thoughts; scattered wishes longing and begging to be fulfilled. _You thirsty? Get in the water_ , she fooled herself to think but another thought attacked back, waving in warning and daring her to turn back and leave before anything happens, _it's not worth it. What's gonna happen in the morning?_ She looked back down to his scattered clothes and soon dropped her own, starting with his uniform top that he let her wore. He quickly turned when he heard the quiet thump; the water was dark but it was also clear and therefore gave a clear view of him to her sight. She expected him to cover up to show any signs of shame from being seen nude in before her but he showed none of that; he simply stood there, in the water, looking at her with an unreadable look, his blue eyes looking dark and round in the pale shade of darkness that surrounds them, water covered him up to half of his chest and the tips of his short blond hair dripped water to his sharply sculpted face.

She didn't think; for if she were she wouldn't be peeling her black widow suit down and off her body with him watching her every move like he was watching a work of art. She slowly stepped into the water, walking deeper and deeper with their gazes locked at one another like a vice. The cool water buried her to the top of her chest, just below the edge of her shoulder blades. He reached for her; slowly and tenderly moved to caress her cheek while she leaned to his every touch, craving more but still restraining the urge. _This is crazy, this is insane._ She thought as they jointly leaned their faces forward, nose nuzzled against one another and his breath hot against her full lips. _This is stupid._ She heard herself murmur when he pressed his lips against hers and they moved together to form the intro of a quiet symphony. _Why does this feel so familiar?_ She reached around his neck and pulled him impossibly closer to keep their mouths from parting. _This is amazing,_ She finally decided as she brushed off what's left of her dignity and replaced it all with desperation and protruding lust; wanting so very badly to be satisfied. The symphony reached a rough course; a mezzo forte filled with splashes of water and human gasps and moan as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, hands exploring her body like she was a detailed treasure while hers reached down and trailed a line along his middle, only to reach lower and lower to get him to a point where there was no turning back. _I know how to drive you crazy, Steven Rogers_. He let out a sharp gasp and kissed her deeper, jutting his hips forward and pulling her by the arse so she could grind against him. Looking at him; mouth parted and eyes black as night, it was as if she was answering his call for desperation, convincing her that it was ultimately alright to do this; that they needed this, that they needed comfort, needed warmth, needed the pleasure. He wanted her and he showed it with the way he touched her and kissed her and pulled her close; She was more resilient about it but kept herself compliant; listening with closed eyes as the symphony grew sharper and led to something bigger. "Not here," she whispered, placing the words on top of his lips before kissing him one more time. She scavenged for bits and fragments of memories she could gather in her head, in hopes of subsiding her budding frustration but when she couldn't, when she realized she couldn't grasp anything new but realize how familiar the feel of his lips were against her neck; she expressed her anger by kissing him harder, deeper, more frantic than before. He took her hand and guided her out of the water, placing kisses on top of her head and over the smooth skin of her shoulder and back as they walked together towards their sheltered hut by the burning out campfire; sliding themselves inside with the tangerine light from the fire as their only reliance to see; dark shadows of their bodies painted the wooden walls of branches around them. She was pinned under him and she started to notice the restlessness that ignited deep in her gut _; is this the right thing?_ He sank himself within her; the symphony reached its scherzo; swift paced and unbelievably messy but never the less still contains a tint of pleasure despite her growing impatience; _end this._ The tight space grew to feel hot and their bodies started to feel so damp against one another; she looked at him and noticed how he was panting and groaning in line with his thrusts while she whined every time he slammed hard into her. _This is wrong…_ It was as if she could hear him say. Even she could see it in his eyes. _But it feels so good._ As they thrived to a devastating end she felt as if she could hear an actual symphony… a Tchaikovsky's piano concerto; the frantic sound of the piano mimicking her staccato of heartbeats, along with the soft flowing violin, taking her back to a time when she danced in her tiny ballerina shoes, dancing like there was no tomorrow and dancing like nothing else mattered.

She let out a gasp when she felt him fill her inside, thrusting one last time and buried himself deep within her with a sharp moan. He looked down at her, drenched with water and sweat, fully spent and satisfied but inevitably, severely, covered with guilt. "You didn't come." He remarked. She bit her lip and nods. The symphony was over. All that was left was guilt and a memory they can't take back. She watched him try to say something, to form actual words. But he didn't succeed; he got lost in thoughts and this sudden ache and confusion that limps his speech. She simply pulled him close and kissed him; not out of lust but out of care. It was meant to comfort him and to calm him down and it worked for now. That's good enough.

The question lingered, though; _were they that desperate? How desperate are they that they decided to reach for each other like that? used each other like that?_

"Do you remember anything?" He asked her after a long silence passed between them and he was lying on the cold ground with her head rested on his chest, her arm wrapped around his waist while his draped across her back. Just with the question she finally got a hint about what he asked her yesterday on the beach, the thing about _them._ So…something must've happened between them, something intimate, something she for some reason couldn't even get a glimpse of in her head. "No." Her voice was small and weak, tired and dazed. _But if they were lovers, then why did it feel wrong_? She curled her fingers on his skin and he held her tighter. He asked her if she was okay and she wordlessly nodded, planting a loving wet kiss to the top of his chest to show him that she cared; she cared about him and he had become everything she's got. "Steve?" She called, rising her head up and shifting by her elbows. He looked at her."Yeah?"

She wanted to ask him if she ever loved him, or did he ever love her. But she just couldn't say it. She really couldn't. The only thing that came out of her mouth was; "kiss me," a simple plead, a beg. An unsaid wish for something; a memory, a flashback about the two of them. He smiled at her; a tiny, thin smile of sympathy and acceptance along with a nod; "c'mere."

And so she leaned closer and their lips clashed to an erotic encore, hands exploring one another like never before and minds hazy with doubtful thoughts mixed with assuring ones; asking themselves if what they're doing was right or was it horribly wrong because it felt a lot like both. Even as he took her again that night, it didn't feel right; something felt off. There wasn't _love_ there. It felt so empty, so strange but familiar. But she didn't feel like asking and he didn't feel like explaining, so they just drifted to a cold, tense, sleep by the end of the night.


	6. Mistakes

_New York State Supreme Court Building, a few weeks ago._

"Are you or are you not responsible for the explosion that killed twelve children, of which occurred three days ago?"

"I am." Steve Rogers sternly answered in front of everyone who came here today; the press who kept taking pictures and documenting videos, the parents of said victims, the juries, the authorities, the judge. And to the vile man asking him questions that kept pushing him to the bottom of his seat; knocking his walls weaker every second. They would plead him guilty, there's no escaping from it; times like these are when justice didn't have a place to stand, times when the truth didn't matter; only what looked like it did. He took himself back to a few nights ago when he, Sam, and Natasha were ambushed, caught in a trap of a game they didn't know they were a part of, a game without a rule they know and one where the enemy was a step ahead from them.

They found an underground lair where a bunch of children were held; twelve of them, to be exact. It sure was fishy to find that the lair wasn't guarded at all, but Steve thought of none of that at the time. The children were all emaciated and unconscious; that alone had Steve going on a panic mode to get them help quickly. Natasha rigged the nearest van she could get to carry the kids to the hospital. He and Sam got in and drove across the city while they left Natasha inside the lair to investigate. Midway through the mission, he noticed something was wrong when he tried to contact Natasha but she wasn't picking up; he later found out in the morning that the police somehow found her inside the empty lair on her own and therefore accused her of being the one responsible for the experiments of the children; given her track record, the authorities didn't even hesitate to take her in. Steve, however, had to face a whole different problem. One of the children woke up and managed to tell him that he shouldn't have brought them here; and with that, just a second later the kid blew up. Literally blew up, combusted from the inside and as Steve and Sam bolted away from the van they watched the van burned, right there, in the middle of the city, with eyewitnesses around. The police took them in for questioning and immediately accused them of being the men responsible; whoever set them up forged files to make it seem like they were the ones behind everything. The police searched his apartment and found a bunch 'strong evidence', including a blueprint about how to make a homemade bomb of which Steve genuinely had no idea how it ended up there. There was no use of trying to convince them that they were not guilty; all evidence led back to them and they ran out of actual options to show the public the truth.

A day before the trial Natasha hugged him from behind and told him that whatever happens they had to stay strong; and that she had forgiven him for what he did to _them_. He let out a sigh and asked her if he could kiss her; she shook her head softly and walked away.

By the end of the court they were sentenced for life and were put on death row; in exception for Sam Wilson who was only charged as a subordinate of the whole agenda, therefore he it was presumed that didn't partake in any of the actual killings.

Then a wall blew up. Nick Fury was there with a Quinjet. All hell broke loose; they were shot at, helicopters chased after them. Sam Wilson decided to play hero by jumping out with his wingsuit to create diversion; it worked but by the time they lost the cops, they also lost the falcon. Steve glanced at Natasha and she gave him the saddest look and she simply turned away, sitting on the corner in silence.

Nick granted them a place to stay and hide; a simple apartment in the most gruesome neighborhood of New York where they could hear gunshots outside the window almost every night that kept them awake almost the whole time. She barely looked at him and he could barely face her; the way they left Sam Wilson, the way they watch him being shot down and fall onto the water down under was too scarring; they left him behind. He's in prison, it's their fault. Yet another mistake placed in their book of reasons that pull them apart.

Soon the place felt so claustrophobically small; so confining and each other's company felt so obnoxious. Their daily routine became a bore, the case felt stale as they had no new hints whatsoever. One morning, he came up to her while she jacked a radio conversation that unfortunately wasn't a channel of their interest; it sounded like it belonged to a taxi company.

She glanced up at him and said hi. He said 'hi' back. The situation was tense and he was sick of this silence and bullshit so he decided to drop his masquerade and decency by saying, "I missed you." He could see how his words took her by surprise, judging from the way her lips parted and her eyes widened. It took her a moment before she found the right thing to say; "we never made up."

"We should." He suggested, putting up an awkward smile.

She scoffed and twisted her seat, invested in the outrageous topic. She knew what he was trying to do."Why? So we could have sex?" She asked frontally.

"It sounds bad when you put it that way. But, yes, that would be one of the reasons." He nodded, feeling the rush of blood fill his cheeks, earning a sarcastic laugh from her. "So what do you say?"

"Well, we're not a couple, Steve." Her smile faded and now she was staring at him with all seriousness. He had to agree on that one. "We never− had a label, but we had something, Nat."

She squints. "You asking me this… it's kind of out of line, don't you think?"

"I know."

"So why'd you bother?"

"I rather have a fight than be like this. I hate the silence."

She let out a sigh, "Me too."

As another silence pass between them he realized that maybe he should give up; that maybe nothing's gonna change anyway. But it hurts, though. Hurts too much to think of that. "So that's it, then?

She looked away. "I gotta sort through the data we've got−"

'But you said you've forgiven me−"

"I thought I could!" She interjected harshly, looking away, biting her lip. "But I was lying to myself. I was lying to you, too."

"What else could I possibly do for you to forgive me, Natasha?"

Her lips trembled, and her eyes were red with fury. Her words were a stream of harsh alto when she finally answered him, loudly. "You knew that the moment you made your decision that nothing was ever going to be the same, Steve! I can't ever see you the same way. I can't even see myself the same way−"

"What would you do if you were in my position, huh? What would you have done instead?"

"I don't want to fight you." She braced herself to look at him again, right in the eyes, letting him see how glassy hers looked now. "Please, just− just focus on the mission."

Steve gave her one last look before turning away, ignoring the sound of her crying in the other room, ignoring the pain in his chest that they caused each other. It was over. What's done is done; sometimes things are just too broken to be fixed.


	7. What was Left

They made agreements. Rules. Something to hold onto while they're casted away in the land of no man, something to keep them from arguing senselessly over petty things. Something to keep their minds intact.

The first one's easy; they would keep hunted meat for three days before throwing it away. Second, they would spend most of daylight scavenging for whatever fruit they could find and spend the night eating. Some nights they would just fall asleep from exhaustion but other nights one of them would just come up to the other and state bluntly about what they needed; and that's where the third rule comes in.

They made a deal with one another about something that they called _tension release_. Or in other words; sex. Forced, depressing, awkward sex, those seem to be the only kind they could have. They made an agreement to comply with each other's request when it comes to _the_ deed. Whenever any of them needed it. It might sound absurd, but it actually was a good distraction from every chaotic thought that's been bombarding their minds: the stress of attempting to get used to being in the jungle, the fear whenever they encounter predators. Yes, there were predators on the island no, not tigers, as it turns out; but jaguars who growl at them ferociously and usually, the captain and the widow would either run or try to scare it with their spear; the latter has never succeeded though. Outrunning them would usually be the best option. At one lucky circumstance they managed to kill a jaguar, truth be told, they had no other choice that time. They skinned the body and kept the meat.

They were relieved when they noticed that after a few days, a lot of water consumption, and a substantial amount of tapir meat, she finally was healthy enough to be of use, and she would try to crack sarcastic jokes every once in a while. She joked about having to get some serious nail treatment once she gets home. The joke didn't land right; or maybe they've just lost their sense of humor over time. They got to a point where they would simply wake up and realize they had no desire to smile; they had no reason to. They just wanted to come home.

He would spend every morning staring at his reflection by the lake, watching as his stubble grow to a full beard and his pale skin gradually mar with blotches from the sun and tiny scratches from the wild. She started counting days by carving it outside on a log. He would watch her in silence and when she noticed she'll flash the kindest smile that would only make him feel guiltier.

"Fifteen days." She glanced up at him that day, looking at him wide-eyed with disbelief. No smile today. He could read her uneasiness, her fear. It's right there in her clean green eyes, it's right there on her sunburned cheeks, on her dirt-stained clothes and her muddled hair. She was still beautiful; there hasn't been a moment when that opinion's changed, but looking at her like this surely had him feeling disappointed of his self. He didn't know what to do, what to say to her to make her feel better. There was nothing left. No lies left, no false hopes left.

 _Someone's gonna find us soon"_ , he said right after they arranged stones along the beach to spell a giant sign that read 'HELP'. Nobody ever came. No aircraft even passed by them. None.

 _You have me. Always."_ Not helping. They're stuck together, it's not like they have any other choice.

 _Let's not think about it… let's just let go."_ Every other time one of them started saying something like that it would either mean that they'll go exploring or they'll end up with his cock buried inside her, forcing their brains to focus on the sole physical pleasure; something that deemed not enough the more often they'd done it. They would simply end up tired, looking at each other with the same guilt, same restlessness, and shame.

She now knows that he's been hiding something from her; she wasn't an idiot, it didn't take her long before she realized there was a chunk of story missing from her incomplete memories. A chunk that particularly told a story about _them_ ; a chunk of which with all his pride he refused to share, a chunk that drove her angrier every time for its secrecy.

 _"Fifteen days."_

"I don't know what to say." He said back to her and she looked away, hating what he had said but realizing that he was being truthful about it. She stayed quiet, very, very quiet the rest of the day, only complying to his simple requests; " _eat"," drink, you're dehydrated", "help me out with skinning"._

At night right after they had a dinner of tasteless rodent meat, he asked her if she would like to take a dip in the lake with him; he knew asking that indirectly meant that he wanted to have sex with her and they also already agreed to say yes whenever the other asked so, but truthfully he just felt like they both must smell bad and they probably need to clean themselves. She said nothing but followed him to the lake and stripped by him and walked herself into the water when he did. When she noticed that he wasn't interested in touching her at all, she looked at him and hoarsely asked, "Am I that unattractive now?"

He dipped his head into the water and came back up, licking water on his chapped lips with a frown, "what?"

"You don't want me anymore." She looked at him flatly, almost confusedly. He found this surprising. "I never said that.' He exclaimed.

"But seems like--"

He decided to harshly cut in."Don't assume things when you don't know if it's true or not."

"But isn't it? Isn't it true, Steve?"

He parted his lips and wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He decided to study the lines of her face; the way her lips are full and plump, the way her eyes are clear and green, the way her jaw was light and smooth and how beautiful she is as a whole. But beyond that there was this clear madness that gleamed in her eyes; she was slowly losing her mind and he was, too; getting worked up over things that didn't exist, seeking conflicts when there is none. How could she accuse him of such thing? "I would always want you." His words flow tenderly, coming from the deepest part of his honesty. She saw it but he wondered if she cared at all; maybe this is what she needs now, a conflict to distract her mind. But it's not right. It's not okay to fight, it doesn't feel right. "Hey, tell you what." He scoffed, taking a deep breath before he finally said, "when all of this is over, when we're home, I promise you I'll ask you to marry me."

She laughed. It's been a while since he heard her laugh; he missed it. And her laugh, although it sounded bitter, at least it was something. Something different, something to keep them from stepping closer to insanity for a second. He bit his lip and reached for her hand underwater, pulled her closer so he could see the reflection of his face in her eyes. The laugh was gone but a tiny smile remained; displayed on her beautiful face, providing him comfort. He thought about all the things they've been through. Things left unsaid, things she _forgot,_ things they fought about, things that kept them together, things that _part_ them. Everything collided into a collage of dots, connected to one another like an abstract constellation, sending him warmth and giving him courage to once again tangle the fingers of their hands together and lean slowly to kiss her. For a moment a thought swept through his mind, thoughts of telling her the _truth_ , the story between them. But then he stopped when he looked into her eyes again and saw the innocence in them. _Not now. Not ever. It's better for her to not know._

 _NYC, October 2013._

"ROMANOFF!" A voice soared through a thunder that just roared. She already knew who it was when she turned and found a bulky but proportionally lean blond man with a soaked navy blue jacket and white shirt planted on his skin; water that wet his shirt perfectly molded the lines of his muscles as he sat on his Harley Davidson Street 750. The sound of its engines ripped through the rush of rain when he rode the vehicle closer.

"ROGERS!" Natasha nodded, squinting to prevent water from entering her eyes.

"NEED A RIDE?" He exclaimed, thunder roared again. He looked up in surprise and smirked, "Jealous, Thor?" making Natasha giggle.

"YOU DON'T LOOK LIKE YOU'RE IN SOME SORT OF COVER FROM THE RAIN." She shook her head as she kept walking down the side of the road.

"YOU DON'T EITHER." He dragged his feet to push him and his motorcycle forward along with Natasha.

"BEAT IT,ROGERS. I'M FINE ON MY OWN."

"YOU LOOK LIKE YOU NEED A CUP OF COFFEE."

She sighed, looking over at Steve Rogers, his wet blonde hair dripping water to his frowning face, a begging look in his eyes. "YOU'RE NOT GONNA GO AWAY SOON, AREN'T YA?"

"NOPE." He simply said.

"FINE. BUT I'M NOT GONNA GET COFFEE."

"HOW ABOUT WE TALK ABOUT THAT WHEN WE'RE NOT UNDER THE RAIN?"

She finally hopped on and they rode to the nearest coffee shop, a small one at the edge of town. And they happened to be the only customers there at the moment, too.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair before shaking water off his head like a dog, making Natasha squeal "Rogers!"

They sat down at the nearest corner to the fireplace, the owner felt sorry for them so she gave them a bunch of towels and a huge blanket, which Natasha and Steve worked together on to build a human sized heap that covered them all over. They took off their jackets and placed it by the fire to dry it off. Steve rhetorically ordered hot cocoa for both of them, along with a pack of marshmallows. When he turned to look at Natasha for approval, she just shrugs.

"They got the best hot cocoa here." He reasoned.

The hot cocoa came not long after. Natasha threw down three marshmallows in her cup before sipping it. They just sat there at the hearth, enjoying hot cocoa and marshmallows while staring at the fire.

"You come here a lot?"

"Mm-hm." Steve answered with a nod, still chewing on his marshmallow.

"Oh yeah? Who's the special lady, Rogers?"

"Oh ho, no." His cheeks flushed red. He took another sip of his hot cocoa. "It seems to me that I'm eternally single."

"You could just wink at a random lady on the street and get her to follow you like a puppy."

He faked a laugh. "It's not that easy, Romanoff."

"There's night clubs everywhere, too."

"I'm not looking for that."

"What? A hook up's always great."

"A hook up? Is that what you kids call it these days?"

"Kids? Really? I'm technically older than you."

Steve laughed. "Whatever. Look, nowadays, women are just too…well..No offense…different."

"None taken. " She gave him a calming smile. It's nice to have a conversation like this. It gets her mind off her shit that she has to deal with her life right now.

Steve sighed. "Natas--" then he stopped, thinking. Doubting whether she would be okay if he starts calling her with her first name. "Roman--"

"It's alright. You can call me Natasha now."

"Okay." He smiled, eyes radiant from the revelation that he just peeled open another layer of the mysterious Natasha Romanoff." Since you're a female, I think it's safe to say that you are the best person I can look for advice to."

"On what, relationships?" She almost gagged on her drink of laughing. Clint would laugh with her too if he was there. Clint was the romantic. She was the frozen dead fish from North Pole.

"Yeah." Steve rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. " Honestly you're probably the only woman I actually know."

"That's not true. You know Maria, and you've met Pepper quite a few times, and I briefly seen you talking to that blonde neighbor in your apartment."

"I know, I know. But… you know?"

"What? I'm not girlfriend material?"

"No!" He quickly retorted, then noticed it would sound awkward either way, so he said, "yes--no, um--well, I kinda trust you."

She smirked. "There's a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers."

"We'll see." He nodded, reaching for more marshmallows from the bag. "So what was the world's best assassin doing, walking on the side of the road under a thunderstorm by herself?"

"I don't know. She kind of wanted to be left alone."

"Ouch." He hissed. "Burn."

She laughed. "No, Rogers. This is actually really nice. The hot cocoa's on you, right?"

"Yeah. You're welcome."

"Cap, I owe you one."

"Nah, it's not a big deal at all. Just cocoa. And you know you could call me Steve if you want to. I mean, Rogers is fine but you know since I'm calling you Natasha from now on I--"

"Steve. I get it yeah. Simple. Steve." She cut, looking up to him with a kind smile. "You really don't have any idea how to talk to a woman, do you?"

"Oh believe me, it's a lot worse with others."

"So why not with me?"

"I was struggling just then."

"Yeah but at missions and all. And with right now. You're mostly just fine. I'm just wondering, why? Why would you…trust _me_?" She cocked an eyebrow and smiled flirtatiously just to see how Steve would react.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Because I just don't normally see you as a dame. You're just too good at what you do. You earned my respect."

"Wow. That's quite a compliment." She smirked.

"Sorry. You probably heard that a lot. I just.. don't know how else to put it."

"No, not at all. People barely come up to me and say hi. They usually just pretend to look away and keep walking."

"It could've been different."

"Only if I want it to be."

"Do you?"

Her lips curved to a smile, she glanced at him and found him looking at her wearing the same revelation that she was; this moment was the first time they actually sat down and just…talked. And she liked it, talking to him. They spent the next few hours together to wait for the rain to stop, and she realized that she loved hearing his stories; all the things he had to say about the modern world, his rants about the new generation and the nostalgias that he had. She admired how he could be so open to her, how generous he was about sharing his stories. And she loved how he expressed that he enjoyed talking to her, too; he said it right when he dropped her off at her apartment once rain stopped pouring and the scent of dew was thick in the air. He looked at her with a smile before he rode away. Even right then she knew something big was coming their way, although that time, she didn't know what.


	8. Disruption

She felt a slap against her lips and just when her eyes snapped open she felt his breath blowing to her face, fast paced and anxious; "shh." Steve warned. Their surroundings were close to pitch black but she instantly knew there was something off when she finally heard the voices coming from the woods, footsteps creaking and bursting through the bushes and lines of trees and men talking to each other. "Pick up your clothes, take your spear. Follow me." he instructed. The voices and noises were coming closer and Natasha felt this sudden panic; _what if they found them? Who are these people? What do they want?_ Whoever they are they sure as hell are not sticking around to find out what language they're speaking in, let alone what they're talking about. Whatever it is doesn't sound English, though.

He gripped her arm and pulled her, making sure he won't lose her in the dark. Together they bolted into the woods, having a slight upper hand since they had a head start exploring the woods. Her bare feet started to hurt and the twigs on the bushes grazed her exposed skin; they were both still nude and running like crazy under the moonlight, through the deepest, darkest parts of the jungle all with hopes that they won't encounter anything harmful. Each of them tripped and fell a few times, but they both got back on their feet and carried on, running away so deep that the jungle soon turned pitched black and it was finally quiet again; listening to each other's ragged breaths in the dark wondering in silence if it was finally safe to stop, or to simply talk. He stopped first, squeezing her arm tight and whispering her to slide her suit on quickly. Neither of them could see a thing but they could hear one another as they got dressed; each other's presence felt like a blessing at a time like this. The jungle was cold and although quiet it felt strangely hostile, making them wonder if there were any pairs of eyes hiding between the trees, watching them. But nothing happened. There was just quietness that lasted for a very long time, all the while he held her close and they listened to each other adjust their breaths and steadied their heartbeats, silently wishing that whoever those men they just heard won't find them tonight.

"Is it safe yet?" She mumbles quietly yet the sentence felt so loud in the thrilling atmosphere. He kissed her forehead and kept his lips there, unsure of what to say. It was quiet as far as he could hear and it was dark as far as he could see; all he knew was whatever happens he wants to keep her safe. He tightened the grip on his shield and closed his eyes, focused on his hearing and praying to God that they would stay unharmed tonight. He won't be able to live with himself if he let her get hurt; that's a mistake he won't make twice. They waited and waited, standing in the dark holding each other with trembling lips from both fear and cold, they waited until they're not sure anymore about what they're waiting for. Are they waiting to be found? Are they waiting for the night to pass? If so, and then what? Daylight would make it easier for whoever those people are to spot them, or, worse; if those people purposely came to this island with agenda to get them; an abundance of sunlight would make it easier for the strangers to find them. Assuming that the newcomers are not friendly, they're left with two options; to fight back, or to escape. And neither would be easy. He let out an exasperated sigh and muttered, "Let's keep walking until dawn. Come on."


	9. Search

_Nick Fury's hideout, fifteen days ago._

"Hi. I'm Bucky." The man with frizzy jaw-length dark brown hair waved at Sam Wilson awkwardly. A thousand questions suddenly turned up in Sam's mind, causing him to look at Fury hoping for immediate answers.

"You told me that you told Wilson Fisk his whereabouts." Sam exclaimed, sounding a mixture of confused and betrayed.

"Fisk thinks I'm still in my hideout in Bucharest, and it's actually true, according to the papers. Nick flew me all the way here."

"Shut it, caveman." Sam pointed at Bucky and squints. Bucky shrugs and pouts. Sam turned to Nick again, still pointing at Bucky. "Since when are we friends with this guy, again?"

"He's friendly." Nick reasoned. Sam rolled his eyes. "This guy broke my car and tried to kill all of us!"

Bucky pursed his lips ashamedly, remembering the event. "Yeah… I'm sorry about that. But technically, that wasn't me."

"Either way we're short on men and Barnes just happens to be HYDRA's best former asset, so hopefully he would make it easier for us to find Rogers and Romanoff. So, are we good here?" Nick switched looks between Bucky and Sam, who wasn't even looking at one another.

"Look, I've brought a hell of a long story with me and I would love to share it with you once we start working together. For now, all you have to know is that I've gained my memories back and I just want to save my best friend. Is that good enough, Sam?" Bucky raised a brow and asked with a soft voice, hoping Sam would just stop being reluctant.

"Fine." Sam sighed in defeat. "But you Winter Grizzly don't get to call me Sam, capisce?

Bucky wordlessly nodded.

"Wilson, Barnes. Let's get to work."

Bucky gestured for them to follow him, to a room full of radio equipments and elaborate computer devices even Sam Wilson didn't comprehend. The Winter Soldier took a seat in front of a computer and showed the two men a slideshow of pictures, looking like it was taken in secret from the distance. "This is the ship that they were on. It's docked by the coast of Macapa."

"Ignatio." Sam read the name written by the side of the cargo ship. "Do we have names?"

"The captain." Nick replied."But he doesn't speak English."

"Brazilian?" Sam raised a brow in question. For a second he thought about suggesting Natasha− who they would mostly rely on when it comes to interrogating and interpreting, but then he remembered that she wasn't there with them; man does he wish that she and Steve are doing alright.

"I speak Portuguese." Bucky said. Sam glared at him so he leaned further into his seat with a slight nervousness, "I mean, only if you guys need a translator…"

Nick stared at the picture on the screen with a stern look, arranging a full-length plan inside his head. "We should all head there in an hour. Wilson Fisk will be on our tail real soon if we don't start moving, we all should be ready by then. In the mean time, keep digging."


	10. Independence Day

_July 4_ _th_ _, 2015._

"SURPRISE!" The crowd cheered loud joyously, not a single long face in the room. Tony stood in the middle of the room, holding a birthday cake with an American flag icing on it. "Happy birthday, Capsicle." The billionaire uttered humbly, still looking a bit guilty after the whole Ultron fiasco that happened recently. They haven't talked much lately; the two of them. There was just this unresolved awkwardness whenever they're in the same room.

Steve hadn't expected this kind of surprise. Not after all the tension that built up between him and Tony, but he had to admit, it's a very nice gesture. Family sticks together no matter what, right?

Tony, as per se, led the party the whole way through, shouting out loud to keep the spirit going, talking Steve into igniting the first firecrackers before letting everyone else join in, encouraging Steve to keep taking shots although the two of them know that the captain is incapable of getting drunk. He kinda wished that there were less people here, though. He wished that it could just be them alone, the Avengers, as a family, not a huge gathering filled with all these people whose faces he could barely recognize. That aside, he had fun; laughed whenever somebody does something stupid; like a random drunk guy who tried to flirt with Wanda, sexual jokes exchange between Tony and Clint, and some lady who tried to swing from the chandelier. They danced, they drank, they partied like they were normal people; oh how nice it feels to feel normal, just for once. Tony even tried introducing him to some of his model friends, who are all beautiful, but none interests him. "Tony, I appreciate the effort but I'm fine on my own!" Steve shouted over the loud sound of music around them. Tony ignored him, shaking his head stubbornly and carried him to the dance floor. "Go out there and show them you're an animal!" Steve wanted to say something back, but he got pulled into the crowd, in the midst of sweaty bodies dancing and grinding against each other. He wanted to get out of it but people keep pulling him in, particularly ladies who seemed so desperate for a chance to get him as their own. He didn't feel like grinding against anyone there, in fact, at that moment, he grew anxious, and slightly frustrated. He harshly told a lady to back off, and pushed his way through the crowd. It's not fun anymore, it just felt annoying. This is not how he pictured his birthday party would go, or the Independence Day, for that matter. Staring down at the view of New York City from the balcony he just hoped that he could be ultimately alone for the rest of the night.

Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, was ready to turn down any other offer from a random lady but was met with a pair of soft lips landing on his. He closed his eyes for a mere second; admiring the feel of those lips meshed against his, enjoying how they tasted sweet and how she smelt so good. He saw her green eyes just before she kissed him; and right after she pulled back from the kiss he looked at the red headed assassin confusedly, while she looked back at him with parted lips and a thankful look, "thank you." She mouthed. Steve peeked behind her shoulder and found a middle aged man giving them a dirty look before turning away to leave. "He's been following me all night. I had to do something." She took his hand and made her way to lean by the railings of the balcony, shoulder to shoulder, eyes looking out to the festive night sky; brightly colorful thanks to the firecrackers scattered all over the sky. Steve was still taken aback, it took him a moment before he finally replied, "You're welcome."

"You don't mind if I stay here for a bit, do you?"

"Nno, no." His tongue felt numb and his cheeks felt hot, he knew his lips were trembling. What is this? _What's happening?_ "Of course not."

"Happy birthday, by the way." She flashed him a kind smile, her eyes pierced at his with a teasing look, probably aware of the fact that he was blushing. He managed to smile back, ignoring the party noises around them and the strong beats of music that deafened their ears. His heart was beating so fast and he felt drops of sweat prickled through his skin; _what is this?_ It's not like he hadn't kissed her before. He did once, on that elevator! _She's a professional, she only did it because it was necessary, Steve._ But atop all that, he knew that he felt safe right here, with her, holding her hand just like this. And he knew he was being crazy by doing what he did next, but he leaned to kiss her again anyway; feeling his heart skipped a beat as he did so, anxious that she would push him away and said no;

But she didn't.

She simply kissed him back, and kept on kissing him until their surroundings felt quiet. Lips to lips, tongue to tongue. Smoothly, tenderly and patiently. _We have all the time in the world,_ _Steve._ He pictured her say. They didn't care that people were watching, they didn't even care what their friends would say or think. All they knew was that the kiss felt good, and it felt right.

She pulled back, kept her lips inches away from his with a breathy sigh, "happy Independence Day, soldier."

He wondered how far she would let him go; he wondered how far they should go. This was the first time that he realized how much he wanted her, how much he craved for her lips to never leave his and wish for his hands to be allowed to wander along her smooth curves. He chuckled and smiled, moving to kiss her again if only Tony hadn't come up to them, severely drunk, putting an arm each around Steve and Natasha's shoulders, squealing; "HOW'S MY BIRTHDAY BOY?"

Steve glared at the billionaire, irritated, but he saw how Natasha simply bit her lip and chuckled with glee, and when her green eyes met his, they brought a smile to his face, too.

The clock struck three in the morning when the last 'strangers' in the party left the premises. Everyone who stayed put was none other but the Avengers plus Maria Hill and Jane Foster; who Thor specially invited over, and all of them were tired and/or wasted. Tony, who was now slightly sober after throwing up at least twice tonight; _wait, it's last night_ , suggested that they huddle up, sit in a circle on the floor, and play a game.

Tony Stark was the last to join the circle, bringing an empty bottle of wine along with him; "Spin the bottle!" he suggested, sliding the bottle to the middle of the circle. Most around the circle reacted with a shrug and murmured _"sure",_ while others snickered. Vision leaned close to Wanda and expressed how he could not comprehend why humanoids do this, and that left Steve Rogers being the only one who remains abstain.

"No one wants to kiss you, Tony!" Clint shouted, everyone else agreed. Steve shyly threw a glance at Natasha, who was seated comfortably next to the archer. She wasn't looking at him, was murmuring something to Maria Hill, something that sounded like "If only Pepper was here he would be dead."

"What are we, sixteen?" Steve decided to speak up. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to him, but Natasha's seemed to be the only ones he cared about. She was smiling dauntingly at him when she said; "Why, captain, are you scared?" and everyone else laughed.

Instead of giving in to her teasing he decided to quip back, "Are you, Romanoff?", causing everyone else to cheer "whoa…", although he truthfully dreaded this more than anything. Yes, they just kissed a few moments ago but for some reason he still hesitates about whether or not she would let him kiss her again. _Was that kiss a spur-of-the-moment thing, or was it real for her too?_ So, although the idea of kissing everyone in the room seems terrifying, if that's what it's gonna take to get a chance to kiss her again, he'll take it.

Tony spun the bottle, "let's just play! No re-spins no matter what. You kiss who you get."

Steve was sure he heard Sam Wilson vocally protest about it, but nobody else seemed to mind the rule, for now, at least; most guys find girl-on-girl lip-lock amusing and Steve is guiltily not exempt from that. Having to kiss a guy, however, is another thing. It sounds rather scary, honestly.

The first spin landed on Maria. When the bottle spun again, Steve felt his heart beating so fast, hoping so badly that it won't point at him. Luckily, it didn't. It landed on Sam Wilson who was sitting next to him. Both were drunk, trippingly crawled their ways to each other and locked lips in the middle of the circle while everybody else cheered and encouraged them. Steve glanced at Natasha, who was watching the two with a smile. He wondered what she had in mind.

"Alright, alright, cut it out, you two!" James Rhodes stepped in and waved at the two. Maria giggled and stepped back to where she sat, lipstick smeared and a silly smile, Sam Wilson returned to his seat next to Steve and muttered, "holy hell she's fine" with a chuckle.

Next spin. Steve hoped dearly that it would land on Natasha and then him. Oh man, if only. Oh wait… It did. The tip of the bottle clearly is pointing at her right now. He watched as her mouth wordlessly parted with surprise.

"Whoo, red! It's your turn!" Clint elbowed her with a laugh and she returned him with a punch on his arm. Clint stopped laughing by the time he realized the next spin landed on none other than him. Steve scowled inside.

"Uh…," Clint raised a brow. "You know what, guys? I think I should sit this out. I'm sorry for not announcing this earlier; I'm just a bit drunk"

Everybody responded with a no, complaining and whining that he's not being fair, except Steve who again, stayed quiet, and Natasha, who seemed to agree with her best friend; "Guys, guys! It's different. Clint's married."

"But we've made a rule!" Tony protested.

"And what happens in this place, _stays_ in this place." Jane added. Everyone else aside from Steve, Natasha and Clint seemed to nod in agreement.

Natasha took a fleeting glance at Steve for a second, before turning to look at everyone else and then back to Clint, a nervous look on her face.

Steve lets out a sigh. Here it goes. She needs a save and he's the best chance to give her one; he's their leader after all. "She doesn't have to." Steve spoke up, speaking with a stern voice like he would during missions. She looked at him surprised, everyone else expressed their disappointment. "She doesn't have to kiss Clint and Clint doesn't have to kiss anyone tonight. It would create a problem, guys. He's a married man with children. The rest of us are not."

Thor raised his hand, "But Lady Natasha should still kiss someone to make this fair."

"How about our birthday boy himself?" Tony smirked and cocked a brow, getting everyone to cheer for them; "KISS! KISS! KISS!"

 _Oh dear lord. Is this a drea_ m? When he looked at her with flushed cheeks and uncontrollable heartbeats, she was looking at him with a smile; thin and kind but mysterious and luring. She rose up from her seat and walked over to him; causing his heart to skip a beat, and he swore the world stopped rotating when her lips touched his. The world was quiet, and it was peaceful; he reached for her, not wanting her to be away for another second, but at the same time knew that the kiss had to end sometime; feeling paralyzed as she pulled away biting her lip and returned to where she sat in the circle. Everyone clapped their hands. He saw Clint laughing and saying something to her, she laughed back with him for a moment before noticing that Steve was looking at her the whole time. They smiled at each other. And he was sure that for a second right there, he caught her blushing, too.

They continued with the game for quite a few more rounds which resulted these pairings below; Wanda and Rhodes, Jane and Maria, Natasha and Vision, Sam and Rhodes; the one which resulted complaints from both parties but they leaned in for a really quick smooch in the end anyway, followed with a 'yuck', Thor and Natasha, Steve and Wanda; it honestly felt so awkward when they'd done it, the kiss didn't last long at all, and basically everyone tried to kiss everyone else they haven't kissed by the end of the game. But it was the kiss Tony gave Steve in the end that made the highlight of the night. The man was so drunk that he loudly whined that the bottle wasn't being fair for not landing on him even once. He then went over to Steve and pulled him to a drunken kiss, which Steve reacted by trying all his might to pull back. This caused the whole room to fill with laughter. By the time they decided to wrap up, the sun already peeked up on the horizon and so they all stayed put; watching the sunrise from The Avengers tower's balcony. Clint and Jane were missing for a few moments, but when they returned, they brought a whole tray of coffee for everyone.

"What do you think of the birthday, chief?" Sam elbowed Steve when he was leaning on the balcony's railing on his own. Steve took the coffee that Sam handed him and smiled with gratitude. "I'd say it's a good one."

"We should take a day off. To celebrate." Sam suggested while Steve rolled his eyes. "This birthday is a day off. We've done enough celebrating, Sam."

The falcon scoffed, glancing over at Maria Hill who was giggling with Tony and Thor not far away from them. "Whatever you say, cap." Steve noticed how he looked at Maria, how interested he seemed at her. He knew Sam probably wanted to chase this… _opportunity_. Maybe he should cut them some slack. To enjoy life like normal lads would do; Go take a nice girl to dinner and, if they're lucky, finally get laid. Steve blushed just thinking of that wish. He wonders if he even is ready to take things to _that_ next level.

Without realizing it, he was already looking at _her_ , the beautiful red-headed assassin, wrapped in a simple black dress that hugged her body perfectly; she was standing alone looking at the sky, sipping her black coffee in peace. _Another day off sure wouldn't hurt, right?_

"You gonna walk over to her and talk to her?" Sam elbowed him again, snapping him out of his thoughts, back to reality. Steve felt heat burning on his cheeks. "Relax, it's natural." Sam Wilson convinced him once he saw the look on his face. "I saw you two making out last night before the bottle game. It's not like you two did it in private."

"She's" Steve stopped, finding his breath caught. He didn't know why but it was as if he was finding a reason not to walk over to her and ask her for the certainty he surely is looking forward to; mostly because he knows he won't be able to handle a rejection, and that she's a co-worker who he sees daily; meaning everything would be awkward regardless, and that at the same time he wonders if she even is interested in the idea a relationship. Let alone with a ninety year old virgin. He remembered that she took a beating when Banner left; she was very quiet and reserved about the sensitive topic but Steve, having had spent most of his time with her lately, he had her open up a bit. Got her telling him things; about her confusion, her insecurities, her feelings. He didn't know why but he listened to her every word, and made sure he was always there when she needed him the most. It was as if he needed to make sure that he at least tries to make her feel better. And he loves her voice. Gosh, he really does. Some nights he would just think about what it would be like to hear her sing, to let her sing him to sleep. If he could have a playlist of her voice he would put it on replay and listen to it a whole day long.

"She's what?" Sam cocked a brow, impatient by Steve's irresponsive manner.

Steve lets out a sigh. "She's still with Banner, I think."

"Banner's not around anymore."

Steve shrugs. "I don't know I'm just I'm not sure. We're so different, Sam." That's it. Finally. A reason. A reason that not at all made him feel better _. You're such a coward, Steve._

"She's a broken hearted hot chick who just spent last night lip-locking with you. How can you NOT be sure?" Sam looked at him like he was an idiot, a complete lunatic. Steve chuckled. The man had a point there. "GO." Sam's mouth formed a perfect O when he said it. "Man, you're a wise-ass but you know jack shit about this stuff. Trust me, go and talk to her."

He took a deep breath and started walking, a small step at a time, body rigid like a stick, walking like an awkward penguin. Halfway through she turned and saw him; she smiled, wearing that exact same smile that he saw her wore last night right after he kissed her. His heart was now beating in a wild pace again. He's not sure he'll be able to say anything to her.

"Hi." She started. He was a hundred percent sure his face looked red as a tomato when he said 'hi' back.

"You wanna get coffee?" Wrong question. She laughed at him, waving her coffee cup while biting her lip. "Right." He corrected, looking away. "Smooth, Steve. Smooth." He tried muttering it but his every word felt like he was speaking on a high volume speaker. It just makes him feel worse. He carefully glanced at her; she was holding out a laughter. Shit. She noticed.

"Steve." She called with her trademark husky voice, her green eyes staring right onto his baby blues, a radiant smile on her pink lips. "Say, uh… wanna give me a lift home?"

"Yes. Yes. Absolutely." He kept nodding and nodding until he realized he must've looked so dumb and ridiculous so he stopped but added another awkward "Absolutely."

Steve waved Sam a thumb up as he walked after Natasha towards the elevator, in which they spent the whole way through making out like horny teenagers. He's not even sure who started, it just sort of… happened. He held her hand once they stepped aside the elevator, as they walked across the garage to his motorcycle, and she hugged him tight when he drove her, his thoughts went hazy with ideas; just… ideas of what he wants to do, choices that are open to them, where this all could be going. They practically live together in the Avengers Facility, though, that kinda makes it easier, right?

But after he walked her back to her quarter with his lips barely leaving hers the rest of the way; they stopped at her door and looked at each other with a similar look; hesitance. Worry. Confusion. And he can't seem to get rid of those thoughts even as other parts of his mind kept trying to picture different ways for him to get her to bed.

"Maybe not… now." She muttered and he nodded, looking down to the carpeted floor and his old brown shoes. "Thank you for everything, though."

"No." He scoffed. "It should be me thanking you." He suddenly found himself analyzing a thousand reasons why she said no. _Is it because of me? How bad am I at kissing? Did I behave like a jerk? Do I smell bad? Am I too blonde? Too polite? Too innocent-looking? Even if she said yes, even if they stepped in her room, would anything really happen? Would I let anything happen? Am I even ready for it?_

"Hey." Her palm cupped on his jaw and she directed him to stare up at her. She had a kind smile on her face when their eyes finally met. She looks sincere but Steve wonders if he could actually trust her right now. "Happy birthday." She leaned to place a smooch over his lips, while he just stood there, not knowing what to say or do next. She did the same, just standing there in silence waiting for him to say something. An awkward silence passed until she finally ended it by excusing herself and stepping into her room; leaving him staring at the wooden door for a good while before walking back to his own quarter with a ton of thoughts stuck in his mind.


	11. Dawn

It was the brink of dawn, the sky was pale and gloomy, blue as the dark sea. Bucky Barnes set down his backpack in a corner and sat next to Sam Wilson with a heavy sigh. "He's not talking."

"Make him, then." Sam looked over to the filthy clothed Brazilian man tied up to a chair, snoring in his sleep. "Where's Fury?"

"He said he'll be out and about for a while. Told me to make sure we keep an eye on this drunkard for the time being. And by the way, it's not that easy to squeeze intel from a drunk man." Bucky leaned to the back of the worn out sofa, tired. "It's been two weeks, god damn. Hope Steve and Natasha are still alive."

Sam looked over to the winter soldier, for a moment managing to let go of his mild resentment towards the man and replace it with curiosity, also slight sympathy. "They are." He muttered calmly as if he was not worried though he is; he vaguely knows about the conflict between the captain and the widow and he's contemplating whether or not he could let Bucky aware of the matter. They've been roaming around the upper coastline of Brazil for a while, searching for the ship captain that led the damned cruise hauling experimented children. They've finally found the captain, but even now they felt like they were coming close to a dead end. Often times it almost feels like they're searching for nothing; whoever led this whole op seems to be very good at covering their trail. One good thing that turned out after these long two weeks is that he managed to bond better with Bucky, although he's not shy to admit that he's still mad at him for the whole fiasco with HYDRA. Bucky makes a good ally as it turns out, and that's good enough to keep things going. "Hey Barnes, What brings you here?"

"Me?" Bucky glanced back at the falcon and scoffed. "I did my own digging. Memories came floatin' back to me and I literally searched all over for clues. Realized I've been working for the wrong side all along and searched for Steve almost immediately after that. Sadly he's not available at the moment."

"We went looking for you too for a while, you know."

Bucky nodded. "I do. It's just that... I thought I wasn't ready. I stayed hiding. HYDRA was still after me, too."

"There's a bounty for your head."

"Yeah, that too." Bucky shrugged. "But I think I'm safe for now. I owe you guys a lot. It's nice to be at help."

"Same goes to you." Sam finally admitted, earning a shocked but thankful look from Bucky. The man was about to say something back right when they heard a grunt coming from the other end of the room. "He's waking up. Interrogation time."

"Right." Bucky stood up from his seat and followed Sam, walking towards the sea captain who reeks heavily of alcohol and sea water. His gray beard was scruffy and his whole face was dirty, he probably hasn't showered in a while. Sam simply watched as Bucky started speaking to the captain in Portuguese, while the drunk man stared up at him sleepily. Whenever the man's not answering, Bucky would deliver a punch to his face, his voice grew louder and rougher over time after the ongoing silence that the man gave despite Bucky's effort. By the time the man was drooling blood and Bucky's fist showed a shade of light bruise, the hostage finally opened his mouth, spit a mouthful of blood, and said with a lewd smirk; "Your friends are dead, pendejos. He send army to make sure of that." The sea captain stared up at Sam Wilson, his voice hoarse and thick with Brazilian accent.

"He speaks English all this time?" Sam blinked with disbelief.

"Who's he?" Bucky pulled the man by his hair, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

"Why should I tell you?" The captain challenged, only earning him another blow on the face. "I don't know his name!" He suddenly howled,out of pain. He looked away, cowering himself from Bucky and Sam's fiery stares. "He never say his name."

Sam took Bucky's arm to stop him from hitting the man again. Bucky sighed exasperatedly but decided to ask instead;"Well what does he look like, then?"

"He not have one hand... one hand look like rocket. Black hair with beard. He want stop your friends from know information. There is secret in the island. My boss want keep , I only know this! I know no more."

"Ulysses Klaw? " Sam murmured, looking over to the equally confused Bucky. "But...why?"

"What secret?" Bucky demanded, forming his fist and raising it up to their informant threateningly.

"I don't know! I swear I don't know" He gucked when Bucky punched him again. "WAIT! WAIT! I know something it...it is a project. Something very expensive in island. But I don't know what it is! I swear I don't know."

"Barnes, I think he's telling the truth."

Bucky took a pace away from the man, cracking his tired fist. "Do you know where the island is?"

The man's lips shook with fear as he fearfully nods; "yes."

Sam abruptly twisted the chair to face the man. "TAKE. US. THERE."

 _Chicago, August 2015._

A lady brought a gun to a meet-and-greet session.

She pointed it at Natasha.

She was about to shoot— Steve's sure of that. He was lucky that Clint was close enough and fast enough to yank the gun away from being directed at the wide-eyed, immobile Natasha Romanoff.

Everything's taken care of. The lady was taken away immediately and nobody got hurt, but Natasha's not fine.

Steve Rogers landed a series of firm knocks against the elegantly furnished mahogany door of Natasha Romanoff's hotel room. He'd been trying to talk her out of her gloominess; she had to come out sooner or later. Giving up, he let out an exasperated breath and bumped his forehead to lean against the door, again pleading the same request over and over again; "please, please, please, come out, Nat."

He still heard no answer, so he simply stood there in silence, squeezing his hands onto fists, grinded gears.

"She's still not coming out, is she?" Steve jolted in shock as he heard a familiar voice uttered a few feet from him down the hall. Clint Barton stepped out of the elevator, wrapped in a black hoodie and a pair of blue jeans, looking at him with concern. Steve simply replied with shaking his head. Clint slowly paced closer, tapping Steve on his shoulder. "Give her time. She'll come to you when she wants to, okay? You should probably go get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."

He let Clint walk past him wordlessly, wanting to come up with a question but his mind was blank. It wasn't until Clint almost reached his door that Steve finally asked, "how'd you do it? Get her to talk to you all these years."

"I don't," Clint shrugged, lips pursed to a thin line. " I just give her time."

Steve finally returned to his own room, which was just two doors away from hers, and a couple hours later he had just slid himself under a layer of soft blanket when he saw a figure standing outside on his balcony, visible through the glass door. He could see her streak of red hair under the dim lighting, a shocking constranst when he thought everything was a shade of gray and blue in the dominating darkness. At first he said nothing; he simply walked over towards her, leaving the glass door to part them while he looked down at her searching for her eyes but never found them. She kept her head down in silence, as if she was guilty. He wanted to convince her so badly that she had done nothing wrong, that she was a good person and that she had to stop thinking about wiping off her ledger for once; but he knew better. He knew that she didn't come here for a lecture from Captain America, she came here for Steve Rogers, a man she trusts.

Steve slowly slid the glass door open, noticing how she carefully looked up and how her slender fingers trembled once she took his hands in hers, slowly guiding him to enter his room. He slid the door closed and followed her, frowning in silence at how she was still fully dressed in her outfit that she wore to the convention today. The Avengers fan convention that went horribly wrong. Or, as Natasha remarked way back then when this whole convention was nothing but an idea on a scrap of paper suggested by Tony Stark himself: _"Stupid ass convention."_

 _"Oh don't be so negative, doll face. All you have to do is sit in a booth and sign some autographs. Maybe, just maybe, take a few pictures here and there. We'll raise some money and give it all to charity."_ Tony pleaded, pouting at the way Natasha did nothing but roll her eyes with a dirty look. _"It'll be fun! Trust me!"_ Tony tried convincing her again. She kept saying no, even the following days after that. Every one else was down with the idea, though. Even Wanda seemed pretty excited about it. _"Why do you keep saying no, Nat?"_ Steve almost chased her down the hangar, voice half raised with growing confusion and irritation. _"I'm not saying you guys shouldn't do it! If Stark and all of you circus buddies want to make a stupid convention it's up to you, really. Just leave me out of it."_

 _"But why?"_ Steve remembered how he kept asking her that, over and over again. _"What's the worst thing that could happen?"_

She stopped pacing, and decided to look him in the eyes with all seriousness. _"Somebody dying."_

He called her ridiculous that time.

In the end it was Steve who gave the final call about the whole thing and he voted yes. So techinically, this glitch that happened today was his fault. All his fault.

"Don't apologize." Was the first thing she said. Her head shook with the tiniest motion, her movements were smooth but calculated as always as she curled her fingers on the fabric of his clothed shoulder. "Please."

He nodded, frowning with concern and guilt. "Okay."

He heard her sigh, silently enjoying the feel of her breath against his lips but at the same time wondering whether or not he should give in to her subtle request. She wasn't kissing him but she was close from doing so. And deep down he noticed how she hesistated, too. "Say something." She whispered softly.

"Like what?"

"Anything."

He chuckled and thought about it for a moment."You know this is the tenth floor." He remarked, both of them now standing next to his bed, her hand sliding up over his chest, making its way to curl on the back of his neck. She gave him a sly smile. "Impressed?" Her breathing loosened calmly, she tilted her head a little, making him guess what she could possibly be thinking about. _Is she mad at me?_

"Always." He looked down to the sight of her slowly reaching under his shirt. "Natasha." He gasped, frowning with doubt. "I don't know if we should--"

And just with that, she took a step back and looked away. " Oh, sorry. Shit. I'm such an idiot. Fuck. Fucking shit."

"I'm sorry." Steve rubbed the back of his neck, wishing that the blush on his cheeks would soon go away. He hated that she loves to swear, but truth is, he didn't mind. Not at all, for some reason. Anything that comes out of her mouth just somehow sounds...right.

"I just had a shitty day, okay, Rogers? Thought we could have a little tension release."

"Nat, I--" Steve scoffed, raising a brow. "we haven't done anything since my birthday. I thought you didn't want me. You rejected me that morning, remember?"

"Oh, is that why you're rejecting me now?" She started chuckling. It's actually nice to see her genuinely smile, it's been a while since she'd done so.

"No, it's because you just had a lady pointing a gun at you just this afternoon. It doesn't feel right."

Her eyes darkened. She took a deep breath and seated herself by the side of his bed, "Well, that lady had a point. I did kill her son, Steve. I remember killing him."

"It's not you." He took a seat next to her, shoulder to shoulder, silently glad of the closeness. He kept his eyes on her, waiting for her to look back at him but she kept her guilty stare at the floor.

"It's not brainwashing or anything, Steve-- it was me. I was interrogating a mob member and this kid he was hiding inside the wardrobe the whole time. He heard everything. He knew too much. I wanted to just leave him be, I did, but I remembered what the Red Room taught me and so I put a bullet in his head. He was crying when I had the gun pointed at him. He didn't deserve to die. I do."

"That's not the Natasha I know." His voice hummed in a low baritone, calming her. She finally looked back at him with a look of protest but instead he kept on with his words, " You had a past. We all do. But we gotta leave it behind, Nat."

She took his hand and tangled their fingers together, smiling at him although he knows she's not entirely convinced with what he'd say. "Damned Avengers convention." She cursed. "You know a guy tried to get me to sign his buttcheek."

Steve laughed. "I can see why."

"Ew." She shook her head in disgust. "Boys."

"Relax. Tomorrow's the last day."

"Yeah. Glad it is." She bit her lip and rose up, ready to walk away. "Since you're not in the mood, let's just call it a night. Sleep tight, grandpa."

"Wait, Nat." He called when she was already at the door. She turned back, facing him. "I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?"

"Well, you don't have to if you take it up." She shrugged, matter-of-factly.

"You're--" He stood up, messing with the tufts of his blonde hair, flicking looks between her and his surroundings. "You're really gorgeous, you know that?"

She laughed, taking a step back inside his premises. "What's your point?"

"It's harder to resist you."

"Why do you have to, again?" She took a few more steps, now leaning by the entrance of his bedroom, looking at him teasingly.

"We're partners. You're my co-leader. I don't know if we should... you know. It's just... gosh. Isn't that why you rejected me last month, too?"

Her smile shrunk, replaced by a genuine, mournful look on her face. "Y-yeah."

"I really want you." He confessed with trembling lips and flushed cheeks, fighting away his inconfidence with all his might. He took a deep breath once he found her stepping closer and closer back to him, until the space between them almost came to none.

"Then don't think," she muttered, on her toes to get their lips closer. " just do."

He didn't say anything back, he simply cupped her face and slowly leaned in to her longing lips, amazed by how much he missed the feeling of having her so close to him, he _loved_ how she didn't seem to mind his wandering hands scanning all over her body-- they roamed lower and lower, until his palms finally rested on the small of her back, crumpling on the gray blouse she was wearing. _This is happening. Oh God, this really is happening._ He helped her slide his shirt up and toss it away, she helped him take off her own. She took her time, her slender fingers trailed along the lines of his torso, kissing the top of his chest and nipping on his neck; all the while he held her and grasped on her fair skin like she was an extension of his own existence. His fingers were trembling with nervousness and he wondered when would she finally notice that this was, in fact, his very first time.

"You okay?" She asked softly to his ear when they finally found themselves messing on his bed, most of their clothes scattered all over the floor, her body hovered over his, now sitting on his stomach with his hardness pressing the swell of her arse. She pulled back, wiping red curls out of her face and held his trembling hands. "Your lips kept trembling when I kiss you." She murmured, "Hands too."

He stared up onto her curious green eyes. "I'm sorry."

She chuckled and bit on her lower lip. "You know, Steve, you don't need verbal permission to touch my boobs."

"I know, I know. I'm just nervous." he gasped when she buried her mouth on his neck. He reached around and tried to fumble with the straps of her bra, but finally realized that he couldn't get a grip of how to actually undo it. He blushed while she snickered.

"Here." She reached back and undid it herself. He slid it off her and tossed the clothing away, staring at her breasts for just a little too long before he gathered the courage to cup them in his hands and resumed kissing her, loving how she made little moans between their kiss as he fondled with her supple breasts; learning quickly of the effect that he caused, he pulled away from her lips and sunk his mouth on her nipple, grazing his teeth and flicking his tongue while he drove out pleasured moans from her. "Is this good?" He asked breathily, nipping kisses on her sternum. She hummed a quiet approval, digging her fingers in his blonde hair, planting kisses on his forehead. He groaned when she started grinding against his bulging hardness, so he returned to her lips while she slid his boxers down to pool on his feet. He kicked it away and tugged on her panties, sliding it down impatiently. "Easy, old man." She joked. He laughed and kissed her again, squeezing her buns firmly once they were both were completely nude on his bed, bodies tangled around one another, her hand working on his member. "Slowly." He warned, twisting their bodies around with his strength so that he got on top. "I won't last long if you do it like that."

"Let's just fuck, Steve." She dropped her head to the pillow, eyes closed, while Steve just stared down at her pussy confusedly. Darn it. Where's the entrance?

"Steve" She gasped, not in pleasure, rather in surprise. "That's... that's my ass."

"Oh." His cheeks flushed red again. He just hoped she won't notice how red his face was right now. He quickly pulled out, using his fingers to look for the right entrance this time. "I'm sorry."

"It's right here." She reached down and punctured two fingers inside herself, moaning a little as she did so. Steve didn't look at her, he simply guided his length to her wetness, panting loud and moaning her name as he easily slid into her. She was looking at him the whole time, a questioning look on her face.

"What?" He asked once he was neatly settled inside her, slowly moving his hips to get things going. "This is the best thing in the world." He mumbled, incognizant of the fact that she could hear him loud and clear. He buried his head on the crook of her neck as he started pounding inside her with a growing rhythmn.

"Steve...?" She asked right to his ear, "Is this your first time?"

He rose his stare so he could stare at her eyes. He nodded shyly. "Is that bad?"

She started laughing. He frowned in concern."It's not a bad thing, Steve. It's" She writhed and bit her lip when she felt him puncture deeper. "It's really not a bad thing," She convinced him, reaching up her hand to cup on his jaw, caressing his cheek with her thumb. "It's an honor." She whispered to the top of his lips. He smiled and kissed her, hard.

For a moment it felt as if he'd zone out, he was seeing stars and fireworks, all of those nice things blended into one. He loved how he could look into her eyes and see the look on her face, he loved it when they kissed and kissed and kissed until they ran out of breath, until their lips felt numb and all there is was just... utter joy. It somewhat felt like something else, it felt like something more than sole physical pleasure. No, they were not just fucking, they were making love. The way her hands gripped on his arms and reached around his sweaty back, the way she dropped her head back when he traced kisses along her neck; he loved everything. Every single motion. He looked at her and saw all of her as a whole; what a beautiful body she has, what a beautiful soul she is. And he's not sure if he was in love with her, and the more he wasn't sure if she ever even thought of being in love with him; but one thing for sure, if he wasn't in love already, he's starting to.

He's falling in love and he couldn't imagine a better feeling.


	12. Shelter

"Steve, wake up. Hey."

Steve Rogers quickly blinked and snapped himself to consciousness, cautious and alert. "We're okay, we're okay." He heard her chuckle and tap on his chest. "We're safe."

"Yeah?" He looked into her clear green eyes, finding it odd how gleeful she looks. What's so great? He remembered them running through the dark jungle, ignoring the growls and creaks that echoed in their surroundings, and they kept on running and running until their legs couldn't take it and their feet sore in a numbing pain. He remembered that they stopped and leaned to a sizable stone and fell asleep by it. He remembered caressing through her hair, trying to soothe her. All in all he could not remotely guess which part of any of that could possibly be the reason behind her smile this morning.

"I've got something to show you. Follow me."

He did as she said, taking her hand in his as she guided him through a set of trees, a deep creased frown remained on his countenance. "Natasha, what's-"

She got to her knees and made a swiping motion on the ground, clearing off dry leaves from their sight, revealing what appears to be something metal and solid. As he looked on, he finally noticed a handle on its surface.

A hatch.

She has found a hatch.

This island's not so abandoned afterall.

He remained wordless as he watched her open it, revealing a set of ladder leading them down to what looked like a white-tiled floor down below. She went down first and he followed after, unsure of whether or not this is a dream.

"This is... unbelievable." He mutterd once they stepped into the new premises, looking around at a white sheet covered twin bed, white painted walls and a tall rack filled with stacks and stacks of books and canned food. They immediately checked the expiration dates: not too long ago and none of them's gone stale. There are clean clothes neatly folded in the drawers under the rack; male clothes, all of them, too generic to tell any possible personality of this underground living quarter's former inhibitant. They ventured around though there's not much space to cover; the bathroom's got clean, running water coming out of its shower head and sink, they found unused shaving razors, a half-used bottle of shampoo and a sealed bottle of liquid soap, and a toothpaste but no toothbrush. It wasn't that much of a problem, they were too grateful to complain. There is a still-usable portable stove with about a dozen of spare cannisters of its gas fuel in the main room, the bed's mattress is nowhere high-class but definitely better than the cold hard ground they're by now used to be sleeping on.

He had a big smile plastered all over his face from the uncontainable joy that she complemented, for the first time after what feels like forever they finally are able to not worry about anything, even if it's just for a brief second.

"I love you. I really, really love you." He pulled her into a tight hug, bursting a gleeful laugh. "How did you find this place?"

She chuckled, happy that she's finally seen him smile again after all this time."I stumbled upon it, is all."

He sighed in relief. "Safe haven for now. We should try to find any communication device-"

"I looked. There's none. We've got a pair of walkies down here-", she opened the nightstand drawer and showed him. "But no phones, no radio, no anything."

He stood there, trying hard to disguise his dissapointment though he knew she could see right through him anyways. "We've got food and a clean bathroom. That's more than we've had in, what, like two weeks. Steve-" she carefully paced closer, taking his calloused hands in hers, "come on. We'll figure things out, okay?"

His blue eyes darted to hers for a moment, calculated and serious all the sudden as he came to a harsh realization. "There are intruders in this island, possibly armed and looking for us and we're unarmed, still not able to get help, not even knowing where we currently are."

"We've got this place now."

"We don't have a clue who this- _lair_ belongs to. For all we know it could belong to one of them."

She looked up at him, mouth shut, chin high and exasperated eyes. "So much for a thank you."

He scoffed. "We've achieved nothing. What, we're gonna finish off all this food and use up all these shampoo, and then what? Rot to death?"

"Steve." She stared him deep, as if not believing any word that was coming out of his mouth just now. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? Everything is."

When she stood still and looked at him expecting his explanation, he started, "Nothing makes sense, Natasha. I don't have anything figured out. I feel—powerless."

"Why do you feel like you always have to have things under control all the time?" She asked softly, an effort to calm him down.

He scoffed, "You're supposed to hate me, you know? You loathed me. Do you genuinely remember none of that?" His voice soared, disgruntled and rough, so matter-of-factly that she did nothing but looked at him confusedly. "Before you lost your memories-- you _hated_ me. You wouldn't smile with me the way you did. You wouldn't strip down and join me in the water. You wouldn't--"

"What's your fucking point, Rogers?" She dropped their joined hands, clenching her fists. "That is not important, okay? I don't care how I used to feel or not feel about you. What matters to me now is that I need to survive and there's no way I'll get through this without you! I thought—I thought showing you all this would come as a relief—"

"How am I supposed to feel relieved if I can't even ensure that I can keep you safe?"

"We ARE safe."

"No we're not and you know it."

She looked away, biting down a tear until she gave up and let a trail of tear trail down her cheek. "Please don't give up. If you do, I don't know what to hope for anymore."

He fell quiet, listening to her quiet sobs with guilt.

"Tell me, then." She started after a long silence. "What happened between us that was so bad that _I hated you_?" She murmured, raising her voice in anger but composed enough to not sound demanding. Steve did nothing but look at her with guilt in his eyes. "I've asked this before. You never answered, Steve."

It took a while before he finally gave his answer, and when he did, it was nothing that she wanted to hear. By then she was sitting on the side of the bed with budding anger and frustration written all over her silence:

"Do you think we'll die here?" was his answer, and she looked back at him with utter annoyance.

"No." She answered anyway.

"Then I won't tell you it."

"That is so fucking childish."

He ignored her. "Look-- this island, the mission, you, everything that's going on, it's just too much to take in."

"I know."

"I'm going mad."

There was finally sympathy in her eyes when she said, "me too."

Silence.

"I'm sorry I ruined your moment. I shouldn't have said all that."

She looked down to the white-tiled floor and shook her head, "It's okay. It's hard to keep sane when you can't find your way out. I of all people should know that."

"I'm sorry I can't give you answers, either."

"Yeah I'm kinda pissed about that." She squinted, though followed with a chuckle. "I just keep wishing that something'll come back, you know? And when nothing ever did I just start hating myself. I just wanna blow my brains off."

He stepped in front of her and kneeled, placing a palm on top of her knee, "I can catch you up on other things."

She pursed her lips, "Like what?"

"I don't know," his lips formed a thin, sorry smile. " This is going to sound cheesy but-- like the fact that you told me once that I make the best pancakes in the world."

She rolled her eyes playfully and chuckled. He wiped her tears away from her face. " Tell me more."

"You know you used to sing a lot? I... loved listening to you sing. Once I earned your trust you started singing everywhere. Humming tunes in the subway, in the shower, those Russian lullabies to help me sleep."

Her expression was unreadable when she asked, "Do you miss it?"

"I do." He looked down to the floor, hiding a blush. "You know, we-uh, we kind of lived together for a while."

"Were we dating then?"

"No, we never really established it because you hated the term boyfriend and girlfriend."

"But it's the same principle."

He shrugged and laughed. " I didn't make the rules."

"Did I--" she hesistated, " Did I ever tell you that I loved you?"

He scoffed, "only every other night."

"Doesn't sound right." She raised her brow flippantly while his cheeks flushed. "And what about you?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I was never the expressive type."

"Did you, though?"

"What?"

"Love me."

He looked up and met her eyes, those curious, beautiful green hues of hers. His lips trembled slightly when he said, "I do."

She sat there in silence, baffled while he raised up straight and made his distance from her. A wave of tension swept over them and he ended it by announcing that he wanted to take first shower. She said nothing but sat there not knowing what to say.

There was a pause after that, a brief one but long enough for her to notice the truth in his eyes. It was somewhat dreading to hear that, but at the same time relieving. She wished she could say it back to him but it would be a complete lie; she's not even sure how she feels about him when it comes to this matter.

So she waited. Waited for him in silence as he showered, fingertips lightly coursing through the titles of the books displayed on the shelf. Mostly fictional novels, though there are a few about all kinds of survival: Guidebook to Edible Plants in a Tropical Jungle, Knots: Beginner's Book, The Basics of Skinning, etc, etc.

She picked up a book from the shelf, Fitzgerald's Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but even after she's all settled in the bed wearing a baggy old t-shirt she dug up in the drawer she couldn't find herself able to get into it. She thought about the discussion they just had, how she noticed his desperation has seemingly reached over the roof, how he's started to give up. What could be done? What can she do about it? How are they even going to get out of here? Is the mind-numbing sex not enough? How does he feel about it all, getting to have her physically but knowing that she doesn't share the same amount of affection to him as he does? How does she _really feel_ about him right now? _Do I love him? Why can't I FUCKING REMEMBER? What did it feel like to be in love with him? Did it feel nice?_ How did that make her feel? What sort of love could make you despise someone so much? _Come back, old Natasha. Tell ME._

"Hey." Steve stepped out the door, shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist. She noticed how he's shaved that beard of his now but made no comment of it. He had his Captain America tactical suit neatly folded in his hand, setting it carefully on the empty space on the shelf before sorting through the casual clothes in the drawer and sliding one on. The clothes fit, through his shirt looked a little bit tight, making his muscles bulge through. "You've always loved Fitzgerald."

Her lips managed to put up a thin smile. "It's a sweet love story."

"Look, I," He started, standing awkwardly by the bed, "I don't want you to treat me differently because of what I just said. I didn't even know what hit me. I--"

"It's alright, Steve."

"Yeah? Good." He muttered, blushing.

She nodded awkwardly. "Guess I better take a shower now."

"Yeah." He looked down to the floor as she passed him. He called himself stupid right after, regretting his lousy profession of love just then. He shouldn't have said anything.

She came out of the shower about half an hour later, her crimson hair wet and her body wrapped in a towel and standing by the door looking at him while he looked at her. He couldn't read her expression, she's just too good at hiding her true intentions. So he read her movements, sitting up on the bed when she walked up to him, eyes locked to his the whole way.

"Would you kiss me?" She asked once she was standing in front of him, who had his feet dropped to the floor.

"Well, of course." He answered right away, though confused as to where she's going with this.

"Not because of the deal we made. Would you—" She bit her lip, glancing over to the floor, "Would you like to kiss me?"

"Yes." He said again, this time with an exhale, his heart beating faster. The answer was firm, definite. "Why?" He asked breathily once she climbed onto his lap, tossed her towel away and kissed him deeply, her hands roaming along the nape of his neck, his chest, his back and shoulders.

"I want to remember--" She said between their kiss, tugging on his shirt and slid it up and off him, "how it feels like to make love to you." She cringed at those words, feeling corny and unfamiliar as she'd said it. She _hated_ it, even. But she figured that maybe the other version of her, one that had her memories intact—maybe she had no problem referring to it as that. Maybe that's what you're supposed to call it when you're in love. Maybe that's what's normal.

 _I've never been in love._ She admitted to herself, hating how she couldn't grasp a single memory of ever being in love. So she focused on the tingles along her nerves with every touch that he gave her-- listened to their gasps and breathing, took in the heat he radiated.

He held her in place, hands moving more carefully than hers were, kissing her with precision and care. He cupped on her breasts appreciatively, letting her lead. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" he asked when she gestured for him to pull his pants down. "We just had sex last night—"

She shook her head and silenced him with a kiss. He complied to her request and tossed his pants off. He groaned when she took him in her hand and directed him to enter her, "Natasha." He caught her wrist, pulling away from her kiss with a frown. "What's the rush?"

"Our first time, did we do it on a bed?" She asked him instead, eyes avoiding his, her voice low and dark.

"It was at a hotel in Chicago." He muttered, tucking a strand of wet crimson curls behind her ear. "And yeah, the bed."

Her lips curved to a smile, slowly gaining the courage to look back at him. She raised her hand and traced her fingers along his freshly shaven jaw, "I like you better like this."

"I know."

She bit her lip in doubt before leaning in and placed a kiss on his left jaw, brushing her lips and tongue along the defined line, while he tilted his head in compliance, pulling her closer and enjoying the feel of her cool skin against his. Her lips moved slowly and found his, meshing together in a perfect rhythm, feeling every touch and movement that the other made, sending shudders to course along her spine. She closed her eyes when he entered her, moaning in tune to his thrusts, struggling to grasp any of her lost memories.

She didn't remember anything new, but she certainly finally felt something. Something more than desperate kisses and empty sex.

And for now, that's enough.


	13. The White Pickup Truck

June 21st, 2009

Clint Barton's farm- newly bought.

The air smelled faintly of fresh grass and summer. The sky was a mixture of magenta and rose, the temperature was balmy and sweet.

It was a perfect twilight.

Natasha Romanoff took in the natural fragrance of the land of wheat that surrounded her; eyes closed, her legs stretched out on the cool metal surface of Clint Barton's white pickup truck, her crimson hair scattered over the windshield, silently thinking about how odd it felt to finally be wearing a pair of blue jeans and a tank top as oppose of a tactical suit she's by now so used to wearing.

"Well that's the last of 'em." She heard Clint exclaim in the distance as he walked up to his pickup truck. She opened her eyes and peered at him. "How many did you get?" She asked curiously.

"Six or seven."

She giggled, eyes darted to the cage filled with bewildered looking wild foxes that Clint carried around with a furniture dolly. "Awwe. They're so cute. Might wanna present it to Laura as a wedding present tomorrow."

"Well if thesecutecritters hadn't spent such a good time terrorizing my crops I wouldn't have a problem with that." Clint said, followed with a grunt as he loaded the cage up the cargo compartment. "Hey, maybe yo'd like to take one?"

"Nah, I'm good. I'm barely home anyways."

"Ah, right. That Stark assignment." Clint clasped his hands together before joining her on the hood of his truck. "What do you think, Nat?"

She turned her head to look at him. "About Stark? I've only done preliminary observation, but based on that he's definitely a conceited asshat-"

"No, silly." Clint playfully punched her shoulder."The farm. Is it a dumb idea? I mean I didn't have time to think it through, I bought it last minute, you know."

"You've asked that like a thousand times already. It's fine, Clint. It's a beautiful place. I love it here. You got it for a good price too."

Clint Barton repositioned himself and laid comfortably next to her, staring up at the warm colored sky. "I can't believe Laura said yes."

She scoffed. "I can't believe my best friend is getting married tomorrow."

"Life's always full of surprises."

"Barton. Always the corny one."

"You're the broody one."

"Match made in heaven."

"Cheers to that." Clint climbed down and grabbed a six-pack of Budweiser that he kept in a cooling box.

"Barton, you read my mind." Natasha quipped, snatching one right up.

"Wait, wait. Don't drink it yet. Hold on," he raised his own can, "Toast. To a perfect bachelor party."

"You seriously are not calling this a fucking party."

"It's my bachelor party. I'll do as I please."

"Fine." Natasha sighed, finally clinking their beer cans together. "Cheers."

The two assassins sat there in silence, sipping their beer and enjoying the soft blows of afternoon breeze that tickled their skin, watching as the warm colored sky changed colors, tangerine to violet, tuscany to gold. It was beautiful, so beautiful that Natasha wondered if a vermin like her even deserved such a view.

"Tasha, is it okay to be worried?"

"Why would you be?"

"I'm getting married tomorrow and I... I don't know. Laura's a special girl, ya know? And I'm just a runt. I mean, with all the crazy things we do for a living—what if, what if we die? Hell, I never cared about dying before but now that I've got Laura, I'm just so scared."

"Hey, don't think about that. It'll eat you up."

"Nat, if I die first, promise me you'll take care of her. You'll take care of her, right?"

"Fuck Clint, I was not expecting this kind of discussion." She shook her head in disbelief and took a big gulp of her stout beer.

"I'm being serious, though. Please promise me."

"Barton." She rolled her eyes. "If I say yes would you promise me you'll stop talking about this?"

"Nat." He pleads.

"Fine." She groaned. "If I die first you go take care of Liho for me, okay?"

Clint chuckled, his expression softened a bit. "Oh right. That little devil."

"Watch your tongue. She's a respectable cat. She has dignity." Natasha remarked sarcastically.

"She hates me!"

"For a good reason, you lonely bastard. You know what? I just realized that you're not supposed to have a woman at a bachelor party."

Clint faked an exaggerated gasp. "You're a woman?"

"Fuck you." Natasha elbowed his gut, not able to hide her smile whilst doing so.

"Hey, you're like, a bro with boobs. Which makes it a bonus."

"Pig."

"Sexist."

They laughed together at that. She's always loved how silly she can be around Clint.

"Hey, seriously though," he placed a palm on her shoulder. She turned her head and looked at him, noticing the weight he suddenly puts in his stare. "You are my best friend."

"More like the only one."

He smirked, back to his playfulness. "Come on, Nat! You're my best man."

"You should be having drinks with Coulson. He's your actual best man anyways."

"Yeah but he's not back til tomorrow so I'm stuck with you. Damn. I wish you were a man."

"But then, no boobs."

"Touché."

Natasha smiled ear to ear, noticing how the sun was about to dissappear and the sky was now painted into a shade of dark blue and gray. "Wanna head back?"

"And get some apple pie?"

Natasha immediately gave him a death stare."You are so NOT going to crash into her bachelorrete party."

"Aww, man. That sucks. Fine. To the bar, then. You drive." He tossed her the keys and she fleet-footedly caught it.

"You lazy bum."

"Hey. It's my bachelor party."


	14. Sail

"Just what are you boys thinking of doing?" Nick Fury took hard, hurried pace along the stony cold ground, the sound of waves and seawind a floating harmony in the background.

"Good. You're back on time." Said Sam, who was fussing with the knots of the captured sea captain's docked fishing boat.

"Hi Nick!" Bucky waved his metal arm and smiled ear to ear, as if unbeknownst to Nick Fury's protest of this outrageousness. "We're going sailing."

"I did not give you orders to GO sailing. Besides, this is a tugboat, gentlemen. It runs on diesel. It does not have one bloody sail. Where's the captain anyways?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Still tied to his lovely chair inside. We're just getting the boat ready."

Bucky walked up to the older man, handing him a badly handrawn map. Nick Fury immediately took interest in it and studied it carefully.

"We gotta go before the high tide's washed in." Sam announced. "Current'll be so strong we won't make it anywhere by then."

"Which means we have until sunrise." Fury concluded. "How do we know that Steve and Natasha will be on this island?"

Bucky tilted his head and raised his shoulders. "That's the thing. We don't. But it won't hurt to check it out. He said that Ulysses Klaue sent an army to the island to make sure Steve and Natasha are dead. I don't know. Let's hope that's not true."

Sam walked past the two men and returned with the Brazilian captain, still with his hands tied behind his back.

"Ulysses Klaue?" Nick Fury wavered in his stance upon hearing the name. "Since when is Klaw in this whole thing?"

"Another unsolved piece of puzzle." Sam sighed.

"Alright." Fury clasped his hands together. "We must keep our eyes and ears open. We could be walking into a trap."

"Yeah I've got a pair of friends called Smith and Wesson." Sam patted on his belt holster. "And a 47."

Nick Fury shook his head with a chuckle. "Nice and prepared. And you, Barnes?"

"I've got a metal arm." He said, smiling smugly. Realizing that Fury was not at all satisfied with his answer, he added, "And an M4."

"Good. Come on, Sam. Let's get the captain on board."

"Sir. Yes, sir."

Brooklyn, 2016.

Sometimes they would sleep with their clothes on; lie next to each other and backs to one another, too tired for all the lovey-dovey charades they play with just like other couples.

Other times they'd be completely naked, and every other week they'd not sleep at all, stay awake at his apartment with sweaty bodies and heavy gasps of breaths and moan and sometimes she'd feel like those moments were the moments that they're most in love.

But some other times they'd not be doing anything at all, and they'd be sipping coffee or watch a movie or she would read a book and he would cook up something from the leftovers in the kitchen and whenever he'd turn up on the doorway between the kitchen and the living room and look at her, that's when she realized how much she was in love with him, with the perfection of the moment; a perfection she can't take back.

"Does it smell good?" He'd bring her a plate of random mixtures of items, one time it was mozzarella topped french fries, then another a stir fry of rice, chicken nuggets and tomato sauce. His creations don't always taste best but that's not the point—she loved him too much to complain.

They'd dance around the living room. Star in small, silly musicals of their own, tapping their feet to the beat of his old wartime tunes or bobbing their heads to Joan Jett. He'd stay quiet when she sang, and she tried to ignore how he'd look at her with such admiration whenever he heard her sing. He can't sing and he knows it—but what does it matter. In her eyes he was too perfect, still.

He'd tell her about his random thoughts throughout the day and sometimes they'd laugh aloud but other times they'd end up absorbed in an intellectual discussion—she loved hearing him talk and loved how thoughtful he was for listening to every argument she had even though they sometimes don't see eye to eye on certain matters.

But life's not comprised of mere honey and flowers, it also comprised of tears, arguments, fights. The constant battle of ego and wit, over silly mistakes that each of them made from time to time. She had a habit of going out and forgetting to let him know of her whereabouts and he hated that. He had a tendency of wanting to have of everything exactly as he'd want it to be—a perfectionist at its core--and she couldn't stand him for it. There would be yells of rage and anger echoing all over the walls of his apartment and their unresolved anger would reside in their silence for hours, sometimes even days. But in the end they'd always come to a peaceful resolution. They'd be sleeping in the same bed again and they'd be kissing and laughing at each other's jokes again.

"I'm sorry." She whispered to him at one rainy evening, resting her chin on his bare shoulder, pressing her sweater covered figure over his bare back. "Please don't be mad. Not today."

He let out a sigh. "Just... try to let me know where you are."

"But I'm alright. I'm alright, see?" She hugged him from behind, her palms on his chest. The sounds of rain outside a symphony to their chatter. "I'm alright, Steve."

He turned his head so their lips would meet. He kissed her softly, slowly. "I get worried."

"Come on. I can take care of myself, captain."

"You never know what's gonna happen, though. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I know, Steve." She repositioned herself on the bed and moved to his front before kissing him.

That night when they lied next to each other on the bed he buried his nose on the top of her head and said in a faint voice, "I don't wanna lose you."

"You're not." She replied sleepily, nudging on his chest.

He slipped his fingers through her hair, gently brushing along her crimson curls. "I love you."

It took her a while but then she replied, for the first time in her life:

"Me too."


	15. Land Ahoy!

The sea breeze brought along the signature air of the ocean, cool and wispy under the scorching sun. Everywhere they look all they could see was the color blue: the blue sky, the blue sea. The sight of endless blue has lost its beauty and charm in Bucky Barnes' eyes by now.

He's never seen the sea before this quest. Before this, all his mission involved muddy lands, the desert, or dreadful winters. In his World War II days he was used to seeing gravelly earth and polluted air. New York City was no better for he and Steve lived in the gutter.

Sam Wilson walked over to him, gripping on the gunwale and looking to the distance just like what he's been doing for a while. "Is it my turn to take the wheel?" Bucky asked innocently. Sam shook his head. "Nah. Fury says he's good."

"Say, uh, you excited to see your old pal?" Sam asked, causing Bucky to look at him with a raised bro, not quite used to Sam asking him personal questions.

"A bit nervous, actually."

"And why is that?"

"Time." Bucky pursed his lips together while Sam waited for him to elaborate. "Cause, y'know, I haven't exactly talked to him in a while and last time I saw him I tried to kill 'im several times." That earned him a chuckle, to his surprise. "Is there anything I should catch up on before all that jazz?"

"A lot of stuff, probably."

"Yeah, like what?"

Sam took his time to think. "Um, I don't know. Your boy's not a virgin anymore."

"For real?" Bucky started laughing. "Stevie boy. Lucky fuddy-duddy, huh. Who's the unfortunate dame?"

"That would be the Black Widow herself."

"No. You're messin.'"

"No I'm not. It's truth." Bucky took his time to study Sam's face looking for inauthentic intention before finally believing him.

"Fuck."

Sam whistled. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"He just went from street urchin straight to the fuckin' Pharaoh. Made me proud."

"Me too." Sam sighed, then remembering what happened between them. "It didn't end well, though."

"Cause they're stuck together in an island? Captain obvious."

"Nah. He messed up before that."

Bucky shifted, propping his elbow to support his weight on the gunwale . "What happened?" He asked with a serious tone.

"He—uh, failed a mission. Let's just say she took it personally." Sam muttered with hooded eyes, as if reluctant to bring back the horrific memories. "I was there. He did her dirty."

Bucky understood that they've reached a sensitive topic. "Well, damn."

"LAND, AHOY!" Nick Fury shouted from the steering wheel, alerting Sam and Bucky who welcomed the news anticipatedly. Bucky's eyes scanned through the blue hues of the seas until he found the sight of a set of scattered islands,close to each other, laid upon the vast blue sea other ahead of them. One in particular was close enough for them to land on.

So land they did, prepping their weapons and jumping down the tugboat, securing it in place before scouting along the sandy beach and listening to the sound of silence in the island. Beyond them were green, grassy plains, with rocky mountains hugging the island like a crescent moon. The island was small, and it looked uninhabited.

"Could they be here?" asked Sam, hand on the hilt of his holster.

"No trails, no S.O.S signs, no fireplace, no nothing. Good chance they're not." Said Fury.

Bucky checked on his M4, making sure it's loaded. "We should probably split up and see, though."

The three men came to the agreement and decided to part ways, leaving the Brazilian sea captain tied to the mainmast.

Fury decided to venture deeper into the grassy plains, and Sam decided to take a small hike along the rocky hills at the edge of the beach. Bucky wanted to explore the coast, taking in the salty smell of seawind in his lungs. His metal arm shone under the vibrant sun, making him admire its beauty for once in spite of all dark things that it came with. He listened to the small conversation that Fury and Sam shared in the talkies, and he only said something right when Sam asked, "Buck, you copy?"

"Hear ya loud and clear, birdman."

But then as he ventured farther the voices turned onto buzzes of static noises and soon they dissappeared completely, leaving Bucky alone with the silence of nature. He didn't panic, though. He's sure everything's fine.

He stopped walking when he encountered something that looked like a burnt out bonfire on the sand. Its remnants burnt part of the white sand, staining it with ugly ashes of black. Bucky tore apart the pieces of burnt wood out of curiosity and found what appeared to be pieces of burnt bones of a small creature, possibly a rat. The sand still felt oddly warm beneath his boots, meaning that this bonfire hasn't been put out too long ago.

Could this be from Steve and Natasha?

He looked around the area and found faint traces of footsteps, barely visible due to the frequent wind current that blew the sand all over the place. Too many footsteps. He looked again and found dozens and dozens of cooked, burnt, partially eaten and picked clean rat bones, most buried in the sand.

Maybe they're really here afterall.

Bucky followed the footsteps along the beach, heading towards the rocky terrain at the end of the beach, noticing how it curved around, shaping the island to its rounded shape.

As Bucky ventured along the curve, the previously unseen view of the other side of the island started to materialize ahead of him. The rocky, damp terrain; the ground was covered with black, mossy stones that often times looked so greasy and felt slippery beneath his steps. He looked to his left, the ocean, and marveled at the sight of gigantic stones shattering the strong waves' relentless efforts, standing sturdy and tall as natural wave barriers. A tiny crab came by his foot and brought a smile to his face, a flock of piping birds chirped as they flew up the blue sky. The island looked like a perfect place to getaway.

The beauty marvelling didn't last long, though. It wasn't long until he noticed a sight of more than a dozen of small boats and jetskis lined along the beach ahead of him. He saw people in tactical suits, a squad of them, fully armed and standing around about 200 feet ahead from where he stood.

Bucky quickly hid himself behind a set of rocks, peeking carefully behind it to observe them better. Their uniforms were pitch black adorned with light gray patterns, their armors were heavy and their weapons were fancy. They even had goggles and helmets on and all.

Who are these people? What are they doing here? Why the heavy gear?

Bucky carefully prowled his way closer, using the rocks as his cover. Once he was close enough to listen to what they were saying he settled down, finger on the trigger and ready to attack but not quite yet. The soldiers were speaking in English, he noticed. Americans.

"I thought you were supposed to be at station 1."

"Got reassigned. Drake called me up here." The other soldier said lazily.

"What for? There's nothing here."

"I know. This whole thing's a waste."

"Try telling the boss that." One soldier scoffed mockingly.

"We've picked this place clean. The Avengers are not here. What are these fucking armor even for?" The other soldier gruntled uncomfortably, loosening his collar. "It's fucking hot down here." The soldier then proceeded to unfasten his bulletproof vest.

"What are you doing?" His companion gasped in surprise. "Stop that. Drake'll be pissed."

"Be my guest. I'm tired of this shit anyway."

And right after he'd said that, a loud yell soared through the air. "Who fucking told you to undress? Put it back on!"

"Fuck you, Drake! I'm not afraid of you." The one who stripped down challenged. "There' s nothing here and we all know it. We should join the others searching in the other islands and we might find something more valuable." He tossed his helmet and goggles down on the sand, revealing his face. He was a kid. Probably in his early twenties, a rookie at best, judging from his mannerisms. His cheeks where flushed red from basking under the sun, his blonde hair sweaty and damp.

Some of the other soldiers had started taking interest in the dispute. They paced closer to listen.

"We have our orders. We should stick by 'em." The one called Drake announced with a stern voice. He's the leader of the squad, Bucky concluded. He counted their numbers and got a precise 18. 18 men to kill later, Bucky sighed.

"Why listen to this fool?" The kid said loudly, looking around to everyone. "You're so old you shouldn't even be on the job anymore."

The kid was silenced with a single jab from Drake, right to his chin. He fell backwards and spat blood out of his mouth, now angry. The kid charged at Drake, tore away his helmet and kicking Drake in the gut. A fight now broke out, the other soldiers circled around them and apparently have taken sides in the fight. Soon more and more of them started hitting each other and the ones who didn't want to partake scurried back to their boats.

Bucky decided that he'd had enough of these soldiers. It's time to find Nick and Sam.


	16. A Story in the Snowstorm

The Himalayas, December 2015.

The bed squeaked and squeaked and squeaked. The cold air of the snowstorm outside seeped into the wooden lodge's rooms thanks to the broken heater. Steve Rogers busied himself with inserting chopped up logs onto the fireplace, wrapped in a warm piece of sweater, rubbing his hands over his arms to warm himself before walking back to the bedroom where Natasha continuously shifted on the bed uncomfortably, her forehead frowning as she focused on studying the mission intel that they've gathered today.

"How's the heater?" She asked, barely glancing at him when he entered.

"Still broken. Do you think we're okay here? I mean this place looks like it's halfway from falling apart."

She pulled the corner of her lip to a smirk. "Only halfway."

Steve sat down on the bed next to her, shoulder to shoulder in hopes of getting a share of her warmth. She didn't look as bothered as he was by the cold, he noticed. Maybe because she's Russian.

"Hey, you wanna head straight to bed? It's late."

"Awwe." She finally turned her head, looking at him playfully. "You wanna cuddle or something?"

Steve shyly shrugged. "Well yeah. I mean, it's cold."

She chuckled and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I gotta finish this first."

"What is it that you're working on, huh?" He climbed the bed and sat behind her, brushing her hair away and planting kisses along the side of her neck.

She hummed. "Just making sure Clint's alright."

"Clint's enjoying his downtime in a lodge with a working heater, which we don't have."

"Yeah but he's all alone and his lodge is a 30 mile hike up the mountain."

"He'll be fine. He's Clint."

"Just gotta make sure there's no enemy around."

"Natasha," he took her cold hands in his, squeezing them lovingly. "He's alright. We're alright."

"But my security alarms--"

"I'm sure your meticulous work setting up traps and alarms all over the forest will suffice in alerting us in the event of any hazard."

She finally complied, shutting her laptop closed and pushing it aside as she welcomed his kiss. Ignoring the raging snowstorm, the stinging cold air, just focused on his touch, his heat; shedding their clothes over time as their embrace grew rougher, cozier.

The lodge finally felt warmer later that night right after they found their bodies nude and tangled with one another, sweating and panting with exhaustion. She laid her head on top of his heaving chest on the bed, a thick blanket draped over the two of them, covering them up to their chests.

He tip-toed his fingertips along her scapula, peaceful as he listened to her breathe. "Tell me a story."

She hummed. "What about?"

"I don't know. Anything."

"Why?" A smile appeared on her pink lips, tired and raw.

"Because I commanded you. Heed, woman. " He joked and she laughed. "I just... wanna hear you talk." He finally said, her eyes meeting his when she propped herself up on her elbows.

"Well," she bit her lip, loving the innocence in his eyes. "give me something to start with."

"Hm." He frowned. "Anything cool."

"Got tons of those." She pecked at his lips.

He kissed her while he thought about it for a moment. "Tell me about Clint."

She giggled. "Clint?"

"Yeah."

"That is so random." She shifted, facing the ceiling, giggling when he playfully nibbled on her ear.

"Tell me anyways."

"Aargh." She fake-grunted. "What about?"

"Hm. I don't know. Maybe how you met him?"

"Now that's a long story."

"I'm all ears."

She dropped her head on the pillow next to him. "Let's see... It was November, 2005. I had been a fairly young agent, working for the Red Room, though I've made a name for myself. All espionage agencies knew my name and most were after my head, including SHIELD."

"Really?" He smirked at her and she kissed him.

"Really." She rolled her eyes playfully. "Clint was sent to kill me on the spot and he almost did-- we were caught in crossfire, actually. My men and SHIELD's, then he saw me push aside this little kid who almost got shot-- a civilian. His men almost shot him, you know. Then when I ran out of ammo I lured Clint to an empty building and we fought, all bloody fists and knuckles." She chuckled flippantly. "He got the upper hand because I let my guard down slightly. He had a gun to my head. A Smith and Wesson. He could've shot me right there but he didn't."

"So what did he do?"

She sighed, caught in reminiscence. "He said, in Russian, 'why did you save him?' I said 'who?' And he said, 'the kid.' And it took me a moment to actually figure out that he actually was serious. He wasn't bluffing to get intel or buy time-- he'd meant what he asked. I told him then that I don't want people like _him_ \--the good guys-- to be killers like me. And after that he put his gun down and told me to run." She sat up, looking away from Steve, who was completely absorbed in the story.

"Did you?"

"No." She shook her head, brushing strands of auburn hair away from her face. " I told him he should kill me right there before it's too late. He just looked at me like I was crazy and the next thing he did was offer me to get away with him. I swear to god that I thought he only wanted to rape me or something--" she scoffed. " I was only 20 at the time, you know. Oh well, the rest is history."

"Did you ever--" he hesitated. "-feel anything-- anything romantic-?"

She chuckled. "No. Ew. Clint's like a brother. I can't do that. It would be really weird. Plus he's like 10 years older than I am." When their eyes met, green and blue, she read through him immediately. "You're afraid that we might have an affair."

Steve pursed his lips together. "No, I'm--"

"Rogers." She got on her fours, crouching on top of him and leaning close to his face tauntingly. "I'm yours," she muttered right before she kissed him. "All yours."


	17. The Journal

She woke up to the sight of his face. His sharp, defined jaw, high sculpted cheekbones, pink lips and sunburned skin. He was still fast asleep, not even flinching when she laid her warm palm to caress the side of his face. She's pretty sure that she's never seen him sleep this soundly before—at least in her current incomplete memories. She herself has always had trouble sleeping as far as she could remember, hence this observation. At times like these she would usually just lay there by his side in silence, for if she moved he would definitely wake up in an abrupt manner. She hates to wake him up like that, it irks her. So she tried to be as quiet as possible when she finally shifted on the bed, looking up at the blank white ceiling with an exhale.

And, he woke up. She could tell from the change in his breathing pattern and the slight creak as the bed shifted slightly to his awakening. She barely got the chance to look at him before he leaned in close and planted a kiss to the top of her head while draping an arm around her waist under the blanket.

"Sorry I woke you." She murmured, faint as a whiper.

"It's alright." He replied sleepily, inhaling the scent of her hair. "Shampoo."

A smile emerged on the corner of her lips, "yeah, we finally smell good for once."

"Did you remember anything new?"

"No, but I had a dream."

"Yeah?"

"An old memory of Clint and I. It's nothing major, really."

"What's it about?" She noticed how his voice dropped lower and quieter when he asked that but she made no comment of it.

"Just the summer night before his wedding." She chuckled, "He basically had no male friends, you know, so he couldn't throw a legit bachelor party. I've always been his only friend and he's always been mine so we spent it together."

"That must have been around 2008 or something, right?"

"Close. 2009."

He sat up, now leaning on the bedframe. "Glad that you at least still have memories of him."

"Not of you, sadly."

"You won't want to."

"Quit saying that. I hate hearing you say that."

"Hey, Nat," he said grimly. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"You already apologized."

"But still."

Silence. She stayed in that comfort bubble of silence that he'd just created by tangling their fingers together; her fingertips lightly brushing along his calloused hand.

"I get angry so often lately." He confessed, kissing the top of her head.

"it's okay. I do, too." She leaned her face closer to his, kissing him tenderly. There's a certain oddity to this situation—she has no memory of ever kissing him like this, of maintaining their embrace for this long.

She sat up and leaned to his lips, kissing him before he gets the chance to grind her gears further. The kiss was welcomed willingly, and it grew rougher, messier. She pinned his hands to the bedframe, accidentially dropping the bedside lamp on the nightstand during the process.

Or so they thought.

They both froze as a loud squeaking sound erupted in their surroundings, echoing along the walls of this tight space. When they both looked to their left they noticed that the bedside lamp hadn't fall down; it stood bent on the table and they could clearly see a mechanical joint that popped out under it, connecting it to the table.

She swiftly put her shirt back on, liquid and agile as the spy she is. He followed suit, and the soldier and the spy froze as they witness the bookshelf shook and then swung backwards like a door, revealing what appeared to be a hidden room. The lights from the inside gradually lit up, illuminating a sizable, rectangle shaped room with magenta carpeted wallpaper plastered all over its walls. The tiled cream floor was shiny and reflected the lights from the lightbulbs on the ceiling, and they could clearly see a sight of what appeared to be racks and racks of weapons and firearms, neatly arranged.

They exchanged glances, waiting for the other's opinion.

"Is this a trap?" He asked while she said nothing. She got up from the bed and slowly, carefully entered the new room, eyes scanning around thoroughly for any traps that might be present. The view behold her astonished her. If anything she was in complete awe, for it's been a while since she encountered such an extensive collection of firearms.

"We're clear." She finally said to him when she was sure. He caught up with her, with the same silent awe observing all the firearms, explosives and ammunition that the room stored. When their eyes met again, he found her already picking up a standard beretta, and when she released the magazine, it was fully loaded.

"Finders, keepers." She said, carefully putting it down where it was. "Say, what's your worry about those invaders, again?"

"This place could belong to them." Steve reminded her, still not relieved at the discovery.

"But we already have a headstart. I say we pick up everything we could carry, take a look at those strangers and if they're hostile, we level this place so they can't get here and arm themselves. We get past all those invaders and take whatever vehicle they used to get here." She looked at Steve, waiting for his reaction.

Steve Rogers' eyes were fixed to the wall, where there lied what appeared to be a sizable map of an island, presumably this one. Red ink was used to mark certain places and label them, including one that read "safeplace," written in messy handwriting.

Natasha's finger landed on the safeplace mark, "That's where we are," she then made a trace of a long straight line downwards. Towards 2/3rd from the border of the island, there was a drawing of a terrain, of what looked like a fountain and a lake. "That's our camp." She made another straight line downwards, where the border lines of the island lied. "That's the beach."

Steve paid attention to more markers on the map, and his sight fixed on a circle that says "ISO mine."

"Who do you think this place belongs to?" He asked in wonder.

"Someone who clearly has business being here. Most likely illegal, or it could be the government. Hard to tell the difference these days." She began looking around more thoroughly, and not long after she found a box of files placed inside a box. She pulled out a white fabric lined-hardcover book and opened it. "A journal." She said. "Says it belongs to Ulysses Klaue."

Steve sighed heavily upon the revelation and said, "Find all the info that you could find. I'll make breakfast."

So read it she did, peeling through the pages and looking at the illustrations and explanations that Ulysses Klaue supposedly wrote by hand. Much of the journal discussed about an solid element called ISO-8 that could be found in several places in the island. Klaue talked about mining it, harvesting it and finding a way to synthesize it. Natasha's not completely unfamiliar with the element. It's been talked about in SHIELD and her previous missions, but all this time it was believed that the element had extraterrestrial origins. To find out that ISO-8 can be found on earth was actually mind-boggling.

She skipped through a few pages, and stopped at a realistic pencil sketch of an elaborate machine with a person, restrained on his neck, wrists, hip and ankles on it, his head strapped with some sort of a helmet connected to cables. Klaue also drew three dots on each forearm and thigh, and drew an arrow to an explanation that read "injection points." She had to admit, Klaue's quite the artist.

She squinted with furrowed brows as she read further onto the explanation in the pages after. She concluded that Klaue has indeed found a way to synthesize the matter and inject it on... people. But to who? What for? Has he done it already?

Steve came back into the room with two cans of warm Campbell soup.

"Found anything?" He asked, handing her a can and spoon.

She handed hin the journal. "Take a look."

They ate in silence. She took the food hungrily and hummed in delight within the first spoon of it. It's been a while since she's tasted spice on food. Eating wild berries and tasteless roasted animal meat for two weeks straight gets tideous real quick.

As she ate, he sorted through the journal and laid open a couple of the files in the box. The weighty look he had on his face felt familiar to her eyes. _This_ , she figured, _this_ she was familiar with. She remembered countless times that they studied mission files together and try to put facts in a coherent order. She remembered his authoritative Captain America look and stern, commanding voice. What she doesn't remember is the tender look he keeps on giving her every now and then eversince she woke up in this island.

Oddly, she grew to love that look.

Steve stopped at one page and froze. It was the same page where she stopped before: the drawing of a person strapped to a machine.

"What?" She asked, curious.

"The children. Do you remember the story I told you? Of how we got here? The mission we took on?"

"This machine has something to do with it?"

"We saw these machines on that ship and the lair where the children were kept. Some of them were still strapped to these things." A look of horror could easily be seen through his blue eyes and she knew right then that he was reliving the horrendous memories. "This ISO-8 ore," he turned to her. "Do you remember that you're familiar with it?"

"Yes. But I don't recall ever having the memory of its effects inside the human body."

"Well I do. It creates a type of supersoldier. Enhanced skills, monstrous strength, agility and enhanced senses. But it's too unstable. It causes physical deformities—gosh those children looked awful. Their skulls were shaped in odd ways, and there were rashes on their skin and I just couldn't bear to look at them."

"So are you saying that Ulysses Klaue is actually the man behind this case that we took on?"

He set down the book on the shelf, nodding in subdued anger. "I guess so."

"Do you think the people that we heard last night were his men?"

It took a while for Steve to answer. The man walked over to the map on the wall, staring at it with crossed arms, his forehead creased and his eyes giving a stern look. "Could be. But if he is with them then they should've been able to find this place sooner, don't you think?"

"Well then, we shouldn't stick around to find out."

"The ISO mines." Steve's words reflected how distant his mind has drifted.

"What of them?"

He rubbed on the surface of the map, over the circle labeled as ISO mine.

"Steve, what do you have in mind?"

"We have to blow it up. The mine. We can't leave before we do it. We can't let him or anyone else harvest more of the ore." He glanced over at a shelf in the other corner of the room. "We have TNTs. We can do it."

"We should focus on getting ourselves to the shore, get ourselves a ride and get the hell outta here." She disagreed. "What if Klaue's men are at the mine?"

"Then we debilitate them." He persisted.

When she was about to disagree, he already cut in, "you don't have to come with me if you don't want to. I was the one who got you into this mess. You were never that willing to participate to begin with."

That was the point where her thoughts faltered. Did he mean it? What is happening? Is he leaving her? "So, what, we just part ways?"

"Get yourself safe. Get outta here. You don't want to see me again."

"Steve-"

He turned and looked at her with dead seriousness. "Trust me, you don't. The real you won't want to."

It hurts. She felt the pain struck her chest like a hard blow. _The real you_ , she repeated in her mind, suddenly deeming herself disgraceful and inferior. Steve's right. She's not the complete version of herself. She's not the actual Natasha Romanoff and she won't be without her complete memories. He kept insisting that she hated him, but the current her, the Natasha that's standing next to him right now, doesn't have the heart to just take off and leave him. She grew to cherish him in a way, to get familiar with his company; memorize his presence and the sound of his voice and the smell of his skin. In a way she didn't want to let go.

"Will I see you again?" She asked him, her voice small and inconfident.

"I don't know."

"Don't say that."

"Why?"

"Because I want to. I want to see you alive and okay."

He scoffed, looking at the floor. "It's not like you're in love with me."

"And what? Your love profession makes you the better person here?" She scowled, rising her pitch and volume.

Her irritation seemed to shock him. He looked at her again, and when their eyes met, it pains her that she remembered how just half an hour ago they were on that bed, embracing each other like they were the love of each other's lives.

"I'll meet you at the beach." He finally promised, though his countenance showed uncertainty. "If I'm not there within an hour, leave."

"Steve, these people could just be fishermen visiting" she tried to cheer herself up.

"This is the middle of nowhere. They couldn't be fishermen."

She looked away. Who is she kidding. "We'll find out soon enough, huh?"


	18. Crossfire

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Just wanna ask you guys:**

 **How do you feel about the story so far?**

 **What do you think about the chapters featuring Bucky, Sam and Nick? Do they bore you? If they did, why? Do you just skip through them?**

 **How do you feel about Nat and Steve and the dynamic that I built of them in the story?**

 **Is the story getting boring?**

 **I've written a bunch of flashbacks with no specific timeline of Romanogers-- should I post them now or are you more interested in things going on in the present time?**

 **Also PLEASE, for the love of god, give me a review!!**

Bucky strolled back down the other side of the island, walking with hurried steps and clenched jaw, his stomach churning with a bad feeling when he noticed a bunch of new footprints along his path, heading the same way he's headed.

 _They're okay_ _, Buck_ , he told himself with a halfhearted conviction wishing Sam and Nick were alright. They should be alright. The soldiers couldn't have found them, right?

The comms stayed silent and Bucky wondered whether or not that was a good sign.

The Winter Soldier stopped abruptly with a loud sigh when he took the sight of their tugboat--

On fire.

Just as he was ready to run towards it, a buzzing static noise shocked him, followed by a familiar voice saying over the talkie:

"BARNES! RUN! RUN!" Nick Fury shouted.

Scurrying with no direction, Bucky reached for his talkie and pressed it close to his face. He ran past several dead bodies wearing the same uniform as the soldiers he saw earlier. He counted 6 bodies.

"Where are you? What's going on?" Bucky demanded.

"That's another one of em!! Fire, boys!"

Gunshots erupted from behind him, nearly grazed his metal arm. He looked back and saw three soldiers running after him-- though from this distance it would take them a while to reach where he's at. Same uniform. _Those guys,_ he squinted.

"They're on your tail." He could hear Sam Wilson say over the talkie.

"I can see that, thank you!"

"Take a sharp left after that tree. Yes, there." Nick Fury instructed. Bucky complied, running away from the beach into the meadow. "Keep straight."

Bucky kept running and running, unable to see a thing due to the wild grass that overgrown him. Inside the cover of the meadow he could hear creaks and voices as the men looked for him.

After running straight along what seems to be an endless path, he finally came across a rocky, angled terrain, heading up.

"Run up, Barnes!" Fury commanded, just as the gunshots found Bucky again.

This time Bucky fired back while running up with agile steps. One soldier managed to hit his metal arm, but the bullet bounced back. Another one managed to land hits to his stomach, which resulted in a grunt but nothing more. Cornered, Bucky found himself an old tree for cover, pulling out hot bullets stuck to his bulletproof vest.

"Where are you guys?" Bucky asked again, pursing his lips upon hearing a series of taunting gunshots aimed at his tree. He peeked out of his cover and tried to shoot a soldier. It only hit his goddamned helmet, but the soldier must've gotten traumatized or something-- he didn't peek up to shoot Bucky again for a minute.

"We're a hundred feet hike from where you are." Sam replied, overly calm. "Nice view over here."

"What, you guys getting cozy over there?" Bucky returned a series of gunshots, managing to cause a shriek from one of the soldiers. He must've hit a weakspot between all those heavy armor. Bucky smiled with pride.

"Aww, Buck. You're late to the party. We just had so much fun." Sam quipped back, only this time, Bucky could hear him both in the talkie as well as the distance.

"You missed the good part. This is nothing." He could hear Nick Fury say, though the eyepatched man was still yet to be seen. Sam Wilson was now standing against a big rock across from Bucky, the rocky path between them.

"Our ship's on fire, ya guys know that?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "The drunkard ran off and snitched. Tell me something new."

"Fuck. So how are we gonna get outta here?"

"That, caveman, is a question for later."

Nick Fury sighed. "Focus, boys."

Bucky leaned on his tree, sighing after he gave up shooting the soldiers. He hit them alright, but just couldn't seem to kill them. Their armors were too extensive. "Say, tell me a weakspot."

Sam peeked out of hiding and shot one soldier dead. Bucky watched him carefully, noticing that he'd hit the soldier on a spot in their neck. "There." The falcon showed off.

"You could've told me that thirty seconds ago. I've been wasting ammo you bastard." This time Bucky came out of hiding completely and shot another soldier dead. Another one peeked out immediately and Bucky got a clear shot as well.

"Yeah but where's the fun in that?" Sam Wilson came out of hiding and clasped his hands with Bucky's, letting out a satisfied breath. "That's the last of em."

Bucky shook his head, watching as Nick Fury descended from uphill. "No. There's more. A lot more. At least 18 of them on the other side of the island."

"And we've made a lot of noise." Nick Fury added. "They must be heading here by now."

"I overheard their conversation, said they searched through this island but couldn't find Nat and Steve."

Sam gave him a pointed look. "So you sayin' they're not here?"

"Either that or they just hiding real good. What do you say, Nick?"

"I say we keep our eyes peeled and try not to get shot, gentlemen." The former SHIELD director strolled casually past them, walking downhill with his rifle at hand. He oddly looked majestic like that.

"Can't we just wait here?" Sam bargained but received no answer at that. When he looked at Bucky he just shrugged and compliantly followed the older man.

"Whoa whoa whoa." Sam persisted. " _Listen_ to me. You're gonna get us killed. It's safer if we stay up here. The path's narrower so they'll have no choice but to come at us in turns. If we go out there to the beach, we're open targets."

"That's where you're wrong." Nick argued, not even looking at the Falcon. "The island's too big. It would take forever for them to look for us. The mountains echoed the gunshots so that there's no way they could pinpoint the exact spot where the noises originated from. We might as well be sitting ducks and good chance they'll kill us in our sleep. We don't have much time to waste and in case you're blind, there's no water nor foodsource around."

Sam was silent after that. Bucky gave him a pat on the shoulder, "He's got a point."

They got off the hilly terrain and entered the meadow, lost in the ocean of green grass with only each other's noises to guide the way. The sun was high up the sky by now, shining on top of their heads and burning their scalps, but the heat seemed to be less of a concern now; they had bigger matters to tend to.

They all stopped and froze when Fury raised his fist to the air. Sam held his AK-47 tighter, Bucky readied his finger on the trigger. The three men listened to the sounds of their surroundings; the birds chirping up above, the waves brushing mildly along the shore, and to the ruffle among the grass. The noises drew closer, and at one point so close that Bucky could not resist the urge to stop breathing. Through the corner of his eyes he could see that the grass next to him swayed and creak; whoever's on the other side was only a layer of blanket away from where he was.

With one swift movement, Bucky drew the intruder close and gripped his head and neck, skillfully twisting it with a deadly cracking sound. The man didn't even get the chance to scream, much less to attack. Bucky was too fast.

Nick Fury glanced back and forth between him and the new dead body before giving him a nod of approval.

Just when they're about to keep stepping forward,

Several strong hands pulled them onto different directions, parting them.

"Sam!" Bucky yelled, hands and feet scampering wildly for release while his arms wrestled strenuously. Whoever dragged him were strong-- _very_ strong. There were two of them, and unlike the other soldiers, these ones wore mouth covers and dark goggles, dressed in all black. Bucky raised his rifle and tried to aim it at them but the slender, black armored arms held him in place and even bit him so hard and deep until he let go of his rifle. One of the strangers then tore away the leather strap that kept the rifle hanging on his body before tossing the rifle harshly onto the empty meadow. He then tried punching them, over and over, but they didn't seem to waver even for a bit. He could hear Sam and Nick grunting and cursing in the distance, and not long after he could hear gunshots in the air mixed together with the screams; that, obviously didn't help calm him at all. His heart pounded hard against his chest and his vision was a mess of a panic attack due to the tight grip on his neck, limiting his airway. The two soldiers dragged him out of the meadow and kept dragging him along the sandy beach. They threw his large figure to an open space, and just as Bucky managed to get up with heavy breaths and bewildered eyes, he soon found that he was surrounded by a circle of soldiers, most of them dressed in black, others in the black-grey uniform that he was familar with. He recognized a few of them from his little spying act down at the beach just then. Among them, his eyes focused on a bloodied man of age. He had his helmet off, unlike the others, and he immediately remembered him as the one called Drake.

Bucky took a breath and made a run towards him, fist in the air, screaming a fight cry.

There was something odd that he'd found before his fist landed on Drake-- the older man was smiling.

In the end, his punch never reached him. Bucky's arms fell down to his side and he let out a painful scream as he felt a jolt of strong electric current run through his back, making way through his whole body. He hopelessly tried to reach for his back to find out what they had just shot him with.

When he fell to the ground, Drake was still looking at him with a winning smile.

That was the last thing Bucky saw before his vision turned to black.


	19. A Normal Day

July 11th, 2016.

"Nat! Hey." Clint Barton tapped anxiously on the glass wall of the conference room, his voice half muffled by the barrier. Once he'd got the redhead's attention he waved at her with a flippant smile and a silly face. She greeted him back with a smile and a chin bob.

"Gentlemen," Natasha tapped her fingernails against the tactical map she was discussing with stoic-looking men in formal attire. The five men turned their gaze onto her, deliberately. "It looks like I have more important business to tend-- let's call it a day, shall we?"

The men nodded and muttered indistinct chatter that she didn't stick around to find what about. She was already out the door, linking an arm around Clint and let the older man walk her along the hallways of the vast Avengers Facility, heading for the cafetaria.

Clint saved them a spot, as usual, a place where no other operative would dare to take away from the two Avengers. He pulled out two doggybags from his backpack and gave one to her. It was warm, to Natasha's liking. They feasted on the homemade Turkey sandwich that he knew she loved so much. Natasha threw a piece of lettuce at him while he laughed at her.

"Rogers back?" Clint asked while shoving Belgian fries onto his mouth. He's never had the best of table manners, being a former carnie and all.

"He should be, soon." Unlike him, Natasha waited until she has fully swallowed her food before answering.

"Aww, man. He's going to ruin our lunch date, isn't he?" Clint teased, faking an exaggerated dissappointed look.

She smirked. "As long as he can't top your turkey sandwich, I'm yours."

"Only at lunchtime." He said casually. He acknowledged the fact that Natasha and Steve were basically _dating_ by now, but he did everything he could to make Steve understand that lunchtime would always still be his _Natasha time_. Steve backed off and understood. Same goes with anyone else who wants to claim her during lunchtime. "Just lemme know if he does anything weird. One word and I'll smack that punk. I've still got my carnie spirit."

"Noted." Natasha shrugged, entertained. But the look didn't last long, though. Before she knew it, she was already looking down at her food and absentmindedly toyed with a piece of fry in the dipping sauce, seemingly lost in thoughts. "He's off to one of his quests to find Barnes." She didn't need to say more; Clint already understood the underlying truth she wanted to express: " _I miss him, I hope he's alright."_

Clint gave her a small smile of understanding. "Hey, it's all cool. He'll be back and we'll all be reunited again and we're gonna have fun with that new mission that you've been talking about."

She rolled her eyes, this time partially serious. "It's _dangerous._ It's not supposed to be _fun._ "

He raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Whatever you say, Nat."

"You were supposed to be at that meeting back there." She protested, now raising her tone though she still tried to keep her patience. "Where were you?"

He sighed, took one last bite of his sandwich and cleared the crumbs off his palms. "I slept off. Besides, you know better than anyone that I hate dealing with fancy suits."

"Clint." She groaned. "How are you supposed to learn the mission if you're not there for briefing?"

"I'll manage. As always. Geez. Cool it, okay? You're being a bit tense here. Besides there's another briefing tomorrow, _with_ Rogers leading. I respect the man more than those fancy suits. I'll show up tomorrow. Promise."

That silenced her for a while. Maybe Clint's right. Maybe she is being a little harsh. She took a deep breath and massaged her nosebridge, closing her eyes. "Sorry. I'm just-- I don't know. Haven't slept good in a while. Got a lot in my head."

"Not so used to sleeping alone now, huh?" Clint asked, careful and thoughtful, watching as her eyes slowly peeked open and a nostalgic smile grew on her lips. "There's no turning back," he continued. "Happened to me after I met Laura."

She looked back down at the table, but this time with slight joy to her eyes, though barely readable. He knew how she hated to discuss about her feelings let alone let him in on any details of her new-found relationship, but she still shared bits and parts of it with him, though. Lucky for him, he knew her well enough to read it through her masquerade.

Her phone vibrated on the table and she picked it up. Right when her smile widened and her eyes light up Clint knew who called.

"Go get him." Clint gestured, as if shooing her away.

"Hey, I still love you." She said as she was getting up, throwing another lettuce piece to his face. "And stop putting lettuce in my sandwich-- it's never going to work."

"But the lettuce gives it a special touch!" Clint exclaimed as she strolled out the sliding glass doors. "I'm gonna _MAKE_ you like them!"

"Not gonna happen!" She gave him one last glance over her shoulder before dissappearing in the halls.

She headed straight for the hangar with a calm and composed countenance, but her swift steps betrayed all her elaborately built facade.

He was still preoccupied with taking down all his belongings from the quinjet when she arrived at the ginormous, busy hangar of the facility. She stood there at the entrance, ignoring the busy traffic of people coming and going through. Her eyes were set on the sight of him and only him, staring at him with a simple smile. It didn't take long before he noticed her presence and she noticed how he tried his best to act casual in front of all these people.

"Natasha." The utterance of her name was followed with an exasperated outtake of breath; too much emotion to convey in this _very_ public space. He was dragging a couple suitcases along with him, a gym bag draped over his shoulder, and a travel bag secured tightly on his back.

"Boy, you travel light." She took away the gym bag and one suitcase away from him, wordlessly offering to lighten his current burden. He didn't protest and simply gave her a laugh at her sarcastic remark.

They kept their hands to themselves and restricted their gaze from one another until they were safe and away from the crowd, back at his quiet apartment at the heart of Brooklyn.

They kept it platonic-- for now at least, because she was tired from the day-long meeting and he was jet lagged from the flight. So they just kissed right after they undressed and change to more homey clothes, sharing light stories and fulfilled their longingness with laughter and kisses. They were about to have a long day tomorrow and they'd better rest up.

"You nervous?" She asked, kissing the back of his neck. The room was dark, the only lighting came from the streetlight outside that came though the window. It was a quiet night, peaceful and perfect for deep thoughts.

"About tomorrow? I am."

"Don't be. We'll pull through. We'll be alright."

He shifted on the bed, now laying on his back. She scooted and sunk her nose on the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

"Hey Steve?"

He hummed in reply.

"Not finding Bucky doesn't mean you failed."

He scoffed, treading the soft red strands of hair on the back of her head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She reassured. "Life's an endless roadtrip. Never stop looking. You'll find him. I know you will."

He chuckled and planted a kiss on top of her forehead. "You should get some sleep. Important mission tomorrow."

"You too."

She fell asleep first, exhausted, while it took longer for him to follow. Out of a thousand thoughts revolving in his head that night he tried to focus on her, the feel of her skin against his and the tempo of her quiet breathing.

When he fell asleep that night she was in his dreams-- only she was holding a bloodstained blade, dripping with blood. His blood.


	20. Parting

Steve Rogers stared at his reflection in the mirror by the sink. He looked okay; light scratches and bruises weren't new company to his skin. His uniform, though, was a different story.

It was dirty; stained with patches of gray and dark red from the dirt. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing his sunburnt lower arm and calloused hands. He noticed the tiny dots of blood spatter across his chest; it originated from that day when Natasha taught him how to actually skin an animal. Long story short she got away with a blood-free uniform but he didn't. _"You're terrible at this."_ She remarked that time. If he were to roll down his sleeves, there were more bloodstain there, which he got from inserting his hands into an animal's gut.

He exhaled audibly in attempt of getting a grip of himself. The contemplation took him back to a specific memory; a time when everything was easier:

 _"Steve, you ready?" He remember how Natasha's sultry voice echoed through the rooms of his apartment and made its way to the bathroom where he was. He was wrapped in a dapper black tie attire, his satin white shirt underneath the jacket stretched tightly to his chest. His hair was combed sideways, cemented by styling gel. Yes, he was ready. "I'll be a minute!" He exclaimed._

 _She appeared at the doorframe, leaning to one side with a genuine smile on her red lipsticked lips. She looked gorgeous in that red dress-- like she always does with every dress. He pursed his lips to a thin line when he looked at her reflection in the sink mirror_ _he has been staring at._

 _"You look handsome." She remarked, her high heels tapped rhythmically as she strolled down the white tiled floor and stepped closer to him. She gestured for him to face her, and when he did, she fixed his bowtie before planting a chaste kiss to his lips. "What's bothering you?"_

 _"The tie's too tight." He loosened it aggravatedly while she cocked a brow._

 _"Steve." She muttered when he looked away_. _"I understand that you're tired but please just come tonight. It's just a petty party, for godssake. We'll just show up for courtesy." She reached up again and fixed his ti_ e.

 _He sighed, mentally drained. "You know how p_ _eople expect things of me? When I came out of the machine two feet taller than I was before, it felt great. But then when they branded me with a star on my chest and told me to wave the American flag to victory-- everything felt different. People expect things of me, Nat. Great things. Whatever I do, wherever I go. That's all they see in me. A symbol."_

 _She looked at him sympathetically. "People look up to you. They want to be you. You're a hero."_

 _"Well sometimes I feel like I don't deserve to carry that mantle, Nat."_

 _She took his hand in hers and gave it a light squeeze. "You're a much better man than you think you are."_

 _It took him a while, but in the end he nodded and leaned in to kiss her. It was slow and warm and for a moment he didn't want to stop._ _He wanted to stay here with her where he didn't have to always act brave and patriotic_ _like everyone else seemed to expect him to be._

He took his shield from the floor and held it tightly, feeling the familiar cool metal against the back of his arm. The shield was an extension of his own being; a part of him that everyone would never cease to associate him with. Steve saw it as a barrier that kept people from seeing him as what he truly is: merely a man. Only few people could actually see through that rounded, heroic barrier, and one of them was Natasha. He was thankful for that.

"Ready?" She appeared at the doorway, visible through the mirror reflection. She, too, was wearing her uniform now. He could see how she has attached several holsters that held firearms all over her body: an ankle holster with a beretta attached to it, two thigh holsters, each with a glock and its magazines, a belt holster storing at least three grenades and an SIG Sauer, and a chest holster containing what he noticed to be a 44 Magnum.

"Yeah." He nodded. She smiled at him with hooded eyes. He knew why.

"We better head out." She turned around and walked back to the main room. He followed and watched her pick up an AR15 that she laid on the bed.

"You sure that's the only firearms you're going to pack up?" She raised a brow in concern, seeing how he only carried two colt handguns in a shoulder holster.

He nodded again, returning her stare with a discerned look. This is it. They're moments away from parting and he's not even sure what's going to happen after this. "I'm fine. Besides, I'm carrying a full backpack of C4." He took a backpack that he'd set on the floor. "They're pretty heavy."

"How much are you carrying?"

"About 40 pounds."

"Just make sure you won't level the whole island."

He chuckled. "I'll try not to."

"Okay then. We better go." She nodded and proceeded to climb up the ladder.

"You've got the map and everything, right?" She asked him right when he climbed out to the surface and closed the hatch. "Here's your talkie. Keep me updated."

He stuck it to his waistband. "I will. And uh-- Nat?"

She looked at him and waited.

He knew he should've said something but his barely-prepared words got erased from his head just as her green eyes found his; so he just pulled her close and kissed her.

She was the one who pulled away first, and when they did, she gave him one last look that spoke thousands of unsaid words before she started walking away silently, in perfect reluctance.

He took a deep breath and started pacing away from her, too. He kept looking back, over and over, as if his mind ordered him to turn back and go with her, but in the end he didn't; he had a mission to do and she had her own. He shouldn't turn back before he'd done his job.

His mind replayed the long argument they just had back there. How she insisted that they should just leave the island while they could, and he argued that they had to blow up the mines first. She kept arguing that an explosion would definitely expose them and put them in jeopardy, therefore she proposed that they should just sneak away, kill as little intruders as they could, take a boat and get away. The argument went on and on and in the end they had no choice but to part ways. There were no more kisses, no more touches or sweet words; they prepared themselves and sat down away from each other in complete silence. Too stubborn to cooperate and too proud to walk up to one another and just say something.

Steve kept walking and walking, following the path that he memorized from the map. He headed northeast while she headed south, and so far he only had stop and look at the map twice to make sure he was right on track.

"Steve? Can you hear me?" He heard her voice through the walkie. He stopped pacing.

"What is it Nat?"

"Nothing. I'm halfway from reaching our camp and I think that's about as far as our walkies can get from one another."

"Are you safe?"

"Yeah I'm alright. No one's here. And you?"

"Alone."

He could tell that she started walking again, and her signal was breaking up. "Steve." She said again, this time her voice sounded faint as the signal decreased and he could hear the static noises getting louder.

"I'm here."

"I'll see you at the beach okay?"

His answer needed a brief delay. "Okay."

"I'm not leaving without you."

He held his walkie tighter, wishing so badly for it to just somehow manifest onto her presence. The sun was shining bright and peeking through the green leaves of the trees above and he could hear the crickets sing amongst the silence of the jungle. It almost felt surreal to be alone; she barely left his sight this past two weeks. He kept picturing the streaks of her crimson hair under the sun, the noises her agile feet made when she paced the ground, the sound of her voice whenever she spoke to him as she strolled by his side. A wave of emotion erupted within him and he couldn't find the right words to say back to her.

"You know what?" She chuckled bitterly. "I think I love you." She said after a prolonged silence, small and afraid. He believed her, though. Even back then she was never big on giving away this kind of emotional pronouncement. This made his heart drum hard against his ribcage. So she loves him now. _Does she, Steve? Does she really? Does it matter?_

He couldn't say it back, though.The _correct_ reply for that felt too heavy right now.

"Steve, you still there?"

"Yeah. I am, Nat."

"Well, uh-- you be careful, okay?"

He scoffed. "Always," Was what he ended up saying before he started pacing again and the walkie went silent, this time indefinitely.

He was alone with nature for what felt like forever until he heard ruffles on the trees that made him stand his guard only to find out that it was merely a sloth slowly swinging up a tree. Thank heavens it wasn't a jaguar. He kept on walking and walking, until he could see three brown hairy creatures sitting about next to a few trees, their coats still half wet. Capybaras. He must be near the waters, which was his checkpoint before he should reach the ISO mine. He could even hear the faint sound of running water from here.

The capybaras didn't seem to mind him much when he passed them; they just sat there and stared at him with their lazy eyes. Steve bashed his shield at a layer of thick, tall bush to pass.

Behold him was a river. The water was as clear as the lake by their camp and he could see the shallow gravelly bottom. The stream was pretty mild and it flowed south, which made him wonder whether or not this river would cascade down to _the_ lake. He crossed the river easily-- silently thanking SHIELD for designing his waterproof boots.

He walked on for another five minutes until he encountered what looked like his destination. He pushed past the trees and found himself surrounded by red colored earth and lines of buttes standing close to each other. The landscape looked nothing like what a South American jungle was supposed to look like; if anything it made him feel like he was in a desert in Arizona. As he walked on he noticed manmade craters and caves at the bottom of the buttes; the caves' insides faded onto what looked like an endless dark path that he had yet the need to venture into. Dozens and dozens of shovels and other excavation gears were stacked up under a tarp- covered dome which looked like it was halfway from falling apart. Some were even lying scattered on the ground, half buried by the dirt. The mining gears had dust and spider webs woven on them. This place must have been abandoned for quite a while. He stopped pacing when he encountered two rusty rear actors, just sitting there rotting away. It was hard to believe that all this was just sitting here, on the other side of the island and they had no idea of its existence all this time. He picked up a working flashlight and finally decided to go into one of the tunnels, where the ISO ore sparkled along the ceiling and walls of the pitch black tunnel as he shone light on them. Steve touched the crystal-like surface, feeling the smooth, sharp edges of the powerful material. He couldn't help but wonder, though:

Why did the miners left? What happened here? Where is Klaue now?

Steve decided to not dwell on his thoughts. He straightaway began planting the C4 inside the tunnels, all 10 packs which contained about 4 pounds each, planted inside all five caves. He could already picture how big was the damage he was about to make as he stared at the detonator. He stepped away from the caves and headed back to where the trees lied.

He pressed the button.


	21. Through Natasha's Eyes

"Steve, you still there?"

"Yeah. I am, Nat."

"Well, uh-- you be careful, okay?"

"Always." He said, and she waited for him to say something else but the damned walkie talkie just stayed quiet. Okay then. So that's all he had to say to her.

"Goodbye, Steve." With trembling lips she sighed to the device though she knew he probably couldn't hear her anymore.

Natasha bit her lip, sucking in the balmy air of the tropical jungle. She'd just told him that she was in love with him. _And he didn't say it back_ , she reminded herself.

She tucked her talkie on her waistband and kept on walking along the quiet jungle, gulping in a slight regret of even saying those three words at all; _I,_ and _love_ , and _you._ She knew she shouldn't have said it. It was dumb.

But it was, nonetheless, the truth.

How did she come to realize it? Well, walking alone in the jungle surely gave her enough time to began delving into things previously unthought of. The thought of not wanting to lose someone, isn't that what people define as love? Because come to think of it, it's exactly what she currently thought of Steve. She feared for his life, feared that any harm would come his way, feared the thought of not seeing him again. _Maybe. Maybe that's what love is supposed to feel like._ _And maybe that's why I confessed. Maybe I wanted him to know so that he hopefully thinks of my well being when he's about to do something stupid? Maybe?_

 _You're an idiot, Romanoff._

She looked down to the jungle floor, kicking away dried leaves and twigs along her path just to kill time. This walk felt like forever. The air was now getting warm, too warm to her liking and she instantly started to miss those deadly winterstorms she endured back in Russia.

After a while, a relieved smile finally began to curve on her lips when her steps took her down to a surrounding that felt more familiar to her eyes. She knew these trees, these vines and branches. She was getting closer to the lake. The more steps she took, the more excited she got. She made a run for it, until she could see glimpses of the waterfall behind the trees.

And then she stopped abruptly, quickly pulled herself away from the open space and hid behind a tree. She saw something. Or to be exact, _someone._

She only saw a glimpse of the person-- someone wearing black and gray all over his body. She slowly peeked out to get a better view. A soldier from the looks of him, wearing an elaborate body armor that covered him from head to toe. His weapon was a modified version of an assault rifle and a grenade launcher, making her squint when she thought about what the hell was all that for. As she looked on she noticed that the man was _definitely_ not alone.

She quickly pulled back to her cover when one of the men turned his head to her direction. They still haven't noticed her presence. That's a good thing for now. It certainly got her worried on how Steve's holding up, though.

With her slick, light movements, she made her way up a tree, quiet and agile, as if she was dancing her way through. Sneaking around has never been a problem for her; it's one of her main skillsets. She made it to the top branch without the soldiers noticing-- from this point of view she counted seven soldiers standing around the waterfall and noticed how they've torn down the hut that she and Steve had set up.

"Bravo one to bravo five, you copy?" Natasha overheard a voice that came through one of their talkies.

"Bravo five copy. What is it, over?" A soldier standing next to the lake replied. He had a rough, low voice of a heavy smoker.

"Any updates on the search, over?"

"We found a manmade tent, might belong to the Avengers. Over."

"That's good. Stay sharp. We're heading there."

"Permission to shoot them on the spot, sir."

"Permission denied. Boss wants them alive."

"Copy that."

 _Okay, they are definitely not friendly._ The sight of the torn apart hut broke her heart a little, but now was not the time for vengeance, yet.

"The Brazilians are driving me nuts, man." The soldier who was chattering in his talkie just then walked over to his friends, he was now standing next to the collapsed hut, kicking away the pieces of torn wood.

The one with the grenade launcher turned and looked at him. "Just ignore em'." He had a slight Irish accent, barely noticeable.

"Why did boss have to recruit Brazilian soldiers anyway?" The smoker groaned. "They don't speak English, those motherfuckers. Can't understand a damn thing they say!"

Another one of the soldiers, who was standing next to the lake, decided to join in the conversation, "That's because they speak Portuguese you dumb asshole. We're in their turf. It should be us who's speaking their language." Her voice was light and high pitched. She was a woman.

The grenade launcher holder took a step towards the female soldier. "And do _you,_ speak Portuguese, lady?"

She laughed. "Fuck no," and the other soldiers laughed with her.

Natasha left the soldiers and kept on heading south, all the way to the beach. Along her way, she encountered more than twenty armored personnel wandering about, and she snuck past them almost effortlessly, using both the ground and through the trees. One time she was even so close to one man that she could stab the back of his neck if she wanted to, but she didn't. She just climbed up the tree right behind him and went on.

She jumped down the last tree that separated the jungle from the beach, and took a look around the premises, making sure she was out of anyone's sight. She could make out more and more soldiers roaming the sandy earth under the broad daylight. All of them looking distracted and bored.

She smirked. _Why do they have to make it so easy?_ _I was hoping for a challenge_ , she thought. She scouted around some more and immediately caught sight of the boats that must've taken them here. She saw quite a number of them: jetskis, trawler boats and yachts. When she observed more carefully, she noticed how a soldier was lounging about in one of the motor yachts. The other ones were left completely empty, since the soldiers seemed to have stationed themselves around the island.

She took a deep breath and made a dash across the beach, towards one of the yachts, hoisted herself up on it successfully and slid into the flying bridge unnoticed. She opened the cabinet under the steering wheel and began working on hot-wiring it. She's done this before, it shouldn't be a big deal.

That is, until a set of heavy footsteps entered her earshot, followed by a tall shadow that casted over her soon after.

"Hi." She smiled at the tall, heavy armored figure who just stared down at her wide-eyed. "Cool ride you got here.

It was obvious that the soldier was about to yell something and announce his comrades about her presence here, but the widow gave him no chance to. She pulled out her knife, and swiftly swung it to impale him in his underjaw with perfect aim. Blood began leaking out to her hand as she carefully laid the dead man to the ground, afraid to make a noise. She then pulled the blade out, wiped off the blood on his armor before tucking it back to her holster. _That was a close call_ , she pondered as she searched him for any pockets. She stopped at the armor on his thigh that had a small pocket. _Keys._ She smiled as she took out the content. She stuck it onto the ignition and it fitted right in.

KABOOM!!!

She froze where she stood, a wave of chilling shivers coursed through her spine. A rush of hot, harsh wind swept through her and the sound of the explosion vibrated in her hearing and for a moment the blue sky was replaced by the vibrant colors of vermillion and scorching red; the air was dusty from the force of the wind and she could make out what looked like a massive cloud of red eruption at the heart of the island. Then another loud _boom_ shook the ground, and another.

Steve's done it. He's blown up the mine.

"What the fuck was that?" One of the men shouted, taken aback.

"Head to the explosion now! The Avengers have got to be there!"

"Let's go! go! go!"

"Call backup! Inform all squadron that there's an explosion here!"

"Get off your asses! Code red!

Natasha watched with horror as dozens and dozens of the soldiers began making a run for the jungle, headed to where Steve's at.

 _Oh no, no, no. Steve._

Everyone was too preoccupied with their new task and too taken aback by the sudden explosions that no one seemed to mind her as she jumped off the yacht and slits the nearest soldier's neck with her blade. Most of them have gone into the jungle by now, and she walked with stern steps across the beach amongst the chaotic atmosphere, shooting two, three, four, seven remaining soldiers before she, too, entered the jungle, where the real battleground lied.

She counted four loud booms as she entered the jungle, sliding through the trees as fast and as unnoticeable as she could, for she knew she was heavily outnumbered. She needed to get to Steve as fast as she could and that should be her only focus for now.

Her heartbeat rampaged against her ribcage. She kept glancing up at the smoke in the sky, making sure she was headed in the right direction. She was forced to kill about ten soldiers-- done quietly by either snapping their necks or stabbing them with her blade, and as she went on she had to leave her rifle behind because it seemed to only weigh her down.

There could be over 50 soldiers stationed here for all she knew, and she started to believe that rough count as she kept running into more and more soldiers along the way.

She accidentially stepped on a mossy surface on the branch while she ran along the branches that made her trip and fall to the hard ground. It took her breath away for a second and the pain struck her nerves but she knew she had to keep running.

Right now, _not_ running was not an option, though.

The impact apparently has drawn attention to her. "Female redhead on my 6!" A soldier ran towards her, pointing his rifle at her and began shooting. She slid behind a tree for cover. _Fuck._

Another soldier appeared on her left and she quickly pulled out her glock and shot him on his wrist. He shrieked and let go of his rifle. It was one of their armors' weakspot for sure, but nowhere deadly. She shot him again, this time another weakspot on his knee. _Damnit! I need a more fatal weakspot._

A bullet hit the tree stem right next to her head, missed her by a mere inch. She quickly reacted and shot the shooter on his head, throwing him aback by the force. When the underside of his neck was exposed to her sight, she smiled confidently. _That's it. That's fucking it._ She wasted no time and shot him dead right there.

She kept running and running. Now more and more soldiers started noticing her presence and she grew more agitated over time since taking them down has proved to slow her pace by a lot. She climbed up a tree and started running and jumping along the branches, running higher and higher up whilst avoiding the gunshots from below. But of course the lines of trees had to come to an end after some time, and she stopped abruptly, almost thrown off balance where she stood at the end of a branch. She paid attention the the five soldiers making a run towards her, and when she felt it was time, she jumped down and landed on one of them, twisting his neck in the process. She had both of her glocks out, and she shot the soldiers around her with a speed so swift that no one else had a chance to even raise their gun. When she looked up again at the sky she could see that she was now very close to the smoke. The sound of gunshots was filling the air relentlessly, along with shrieks of pain and loud thumps as if an object was thrown all over the place. Natasha ran as quickly as she could towards the noise, pushing past the trees and shooting a few soldiers along the way.

It wasn't long until her eyes caught sight of him, _her_ Steve Rogers. There he was, blond hair and fair skin, standing tall on an open space with his mighty shield and a grimace. They were shooting at him and he shot back at them every once in a while, but he mostly threw his shield around or bash it at them as a deadly blow. She looked around him and acted quickly upon seeing three different soldier who had their rifles aimed at him. She shot them all to their deaths.

He noticed and turned his head to look at her, smiling ear to ear as if she was the best surprise he has ever witnessed in his life.

"Steve!" She called, running faster towards him amidst all the smoke that resulted from the explosion.

That smile didn't last long, though. He looked to his left, was about to say something, but his voice was muffled by an explosion that knocked down a tree right in front of her and sent her flying back a few feet. She looked to her left and saw the Irish soldier with the grenade launcher, fresh smoke coming out of its barrel.

"Natasha!" She could vaguely hear him call her name in the distance, but her head was already dizzy from the strike and a thick fog of exploded dust and muck limited her from looking at her surroundings. She ignored the dizzying pain on the back of her head and along her spine and tried to get up.

 _Up, Natasha. Get the fuck up. You can take this, s_ he forced herself to get on her feet;

And that's when another blow of explosion struck her unconscious.


	22. The One who Changed Everything

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 *** trigger warning for self-harm by the end of the chapter.***

July 19th, 2016.

Natasha Romanoff sat in a fancy chair, in a fancy office, wearing a fancy outfit.

But nothing about being here is fancy. Being here felt worse than bleeding out from an open gash. Being here was a stab to the chest; excruciatingly painful yet unending. Being here was tearing open a wound not at all healed yet.

She'd rather be waterboarded than be here.

"Mr. Barton has appointed you."

"I never _asked_ for this."

The clerk, a middle aged man, scrawny with balding black hair pursed his lips in sympathy. "No one has, Ms. Romanoff. No one has." He took a deep breath, and passed down the piece of legal paper across the table towards her. "You are officially the authorized executor of Clint Barton's _will_. I urge you to read it carefully. Take your time."

Natasha Romanoff glared at the piece of paper on the table, ominity apparent on her features. She didn't even want to be here-- she couldn't take the pain, couldn't bear it.

 _Fuck you for laying all this mess on me, Clint._

"Mr. Barton asked it himself, Ms. Romanoff." He said carefully, seemingly aware of her deadly reputation. "He wrote your name down himself."

"I believe you." Natasha sighed, the edges of her fingertips trembled as she finally made the courage to touch the surface of the will. But even then, she didn't have the courage to read everything in it.

"I can't." She abruptly got to her feet, ready to leave this sickening office any time now. Her face felt hot all the sudden, blood filled her cheeks and a dam of tears built itself on the corner of her eyes. _Don't cry, damnit!_

"But Clint Barton--"

"Clint Barton is _dead._ " Her words came out in a hoarse growl, final and dreading. She loathed the drop of tear that escaped her left eye right after, and she wiped it away as quickly as she could right when she felt it wet her cheek.

"I understand that this might be hard to take--" The clerk's voice grew smaller, more careful and concerned, "but he did appoint you as his executor and it is your responsibility to make sure that all Mr.Barton's estate fall onto the right hands."

Natasha found herself staring at the wall blankly, her mind balancing between common sense and an an overwhelming amount of subdued emotional rage. "Read it to me."

"I'm sorry, wh--"

"READ. IT. to me."

The clerk swallowed down a fearful gasp. "Y-y-yes. Right away Ms. Romanoff."

He gulped and began:

" _Here is the very last will and testament of me, Clint Francis Barton, currently residing at 240th Street, Waverly, Iowa._

 _I've never made a will before and I only Googled the guidelines but I hope I'm doing it right._

 _To my bestfriend, Natasha Romanoff, I trust you most and refer to you as my Executor._

 _I don't have much stuff I can give away, but the hell with it._ _All the funeral expenses should be covered by my bank savings. Nat, you have access to all my accounts. All of them. I trust you to share em wisely._

 _I want my estate, as in the farm, to be looked after by my wife, Laura. My kids' should have the rights for it too, when they come of age._

 _To my brother, Charles Bernard Barton, I give you a putty arrow. I should've shot you when I could, bud._

 _To my first son, Cooper James Barton, I give you my collection of bows, quivers, arrows, and my shooting range._

 _To my daughter, Lila Katherine Barton, I give you my car, my classic 1970 Dodge Challenger. I have a feeling you'd be more responsible for it than Cooper will. Drive safe, my lady, when you come of age, of course._

 _To my second son, Nathaniel Pietro Barton, I give you my tractors. You seem to love them very much._

 _To my best friend, Natalia Alianovna Romanova, I give you my Smith and Wesson 5906. You know what it means._

 _I sign my name to my Last Will and Testament, written on this one piece of paper, this 8th Day of April, 2015."_

The clerk puts down the paper and looked at her with fear in his eyes, only to find the sight of Natasha Romanoff standing still with a hollow look by the guest chair. She had her eyes locked to the floor, hiding the devastation in her eyes.

"Is it a holograph?" was all she asked after a thrilling silence.

"Yes it is. We can begin the process with the bank--"

"Don't tell me. Just get it done with."

The clerk fixed his posture and nodded. "Right away, Ms. Romanoff."

"Call me if you need anything."

Natasha paced out the room in scurried steps, grasping for a sudden need of air. She couldn't believe it. Clint's dead. Clint Barton is dead. The rugged, silly, expert marksman. Her bestfriend.

She hurled out what resided in her empty stomach right when she was out of the building. She didn't care that people were watching, didn't care that she was staining the fancy pavement of the Law Firm building. She wanted out of here, out of this situation-- this world. She wanted to beat up Clint Barton until he was black and blue for leaving her like this, leaving her, Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel behind.

 _It's not your time. It should've been me, Clint._ _ME._

She remembered hugging a sobbing Laura just last week at his funeral, his casket shut closed for his injuries were too grotesque to see. The rooms of his vast farmhouse felt cold for the first time in her life. She wished for it all to just be over. She wanted no more mention of him, no more reminders. So she locked herself away in her apartment and spent the rest of her week staying either drunk or high or slitting open wounds along her arms. One time she bled so bad that she grew so dizzy and limp and couldn't do anything but lie on the floor. She pondered about the idea of death but then one memory struck her mind:

She'd promised Clint that she'll take care of Laura.

She weakly reached for her phone, realizing that she was running out of options, of time-- and the bleeding wouldn't stop.

So she called Steve, who lived the closest.

She remembered that he was mad when he arrived. _Oh, mad would be an understatement_. He did the job, though. He took her to her car and drove them to the nearest hospital. Later the doctors told them that if only they were one minute too late she might not still be here.

 _"What were you thinking??"_ He yelled at her, loud and angry. She was still lying on the hospital bed, IV cord stuck through her skin. _"You could've died, Natasha!"_

 _"Well maybe I wanted to."_ She answered coldly, staring right at his piercing blue eyes.

He said nothing back but paced back and forth anxiously, face damp with tears. She'd never seen him cry until right then and the sight was... _devastating._

 _"You can't do that to me."_ He finally said when he was calm enough, standing across the room with shuddering fists. _"Don't die."_

 _"You took_ him _away from me."_

 _"I was left with no choice--"_

 _"He has a wife and kids!"_

 _"I have YOU."_

 _"THAT'S FUCKING SELFISH!"_ She was yelling now but she's not regretting it.

 _"I know!"_ Another dam of tears broke in his eyes. " _For Chistsakes, I know, damnit."_

She looked away, unable to look at him much longer. She was crying and she hated it. She regretted calling Steve to her rescue, regretted ever loving him and letting him love her, regretted all the smiles and kisses and sex and everything _sweet_ they had shared. If only she stayed cold and sat idle where she was like a good little spy at that damned birthday of his that night, Clint Barton might still be alive.

 _"Get out, Steve."_

He gave her a final look.

" _GET. OUT_." She repeated, final and painful. Out of the room, out of her sight, out of her life was what she meant.

He seemed to understand it well enough, though. He stood there in silence just a while longer, but then walked out quietly, leaving the room to a striking silence that she loathed more and more as every second went by.


	23. The Rooftop

_Sometime_ _after the events of Age of Ultron, 2015._

One thing about The Avengers: despite all of them being very different people who were pretty much forced to sit next to each other and work together to prevent world catastrophy-- at the end of the day they had fun. They loved each other and they enjoyed each other's company. Thor and Bruce would jest about which one of them was the strongest and they seemed to enjoy having Steve around in their discussions. Tony would purposedly mock him and his luck with finding a date and Clint would spend his time trying to vex him with his tricks and pranks.

And Natasha, well, Natasha's a ton of fun. He wouldn't admit it but he actually enjoyed how secretly funny she was despite her cold nature and unpredictability. She also knew every good brand of alcohol like the back of her hand; it wasn't a rare sight to see her swigging a bottle of whatever namebrand down at the lounge. She'd smile at him and ask him if he'd like a sip everytime.

She also was his constant sparring partner at the gym-- though he had to keep reminding himself to hold back whenever he fought her. He didn't mind though. She excelled where he lacked and vice versa: she had better techniques while he had better reflexes, she was sneakier while he was more direct, she was faster while he was stronger.

As of today, though, everything was different.

Today, just like every other day this past week, Steve mourned. Mourned the losses, watched every update on the news with a grim face, listened to the radio broadcasts that announced the death count of the flying city. Tony Stark was nowhere to be seen-- the man has probably locked himself away somewhere in one of his fancy homes. Clint has announced earlier that he wanted to take a break from all this _superhero business_ , Thor has flung into space and Banner-- Banner dissappeared.

Then there's the new telekinetic kid who just lost her brother, Wanda; Steve pitied the kid for everything that has happened to her. She seemed to be getting cozy with Vision though, and Steve didn't feel it right to get between them. Sam Wilson's a great sport, sure, but he mostly spent his time watching sport games with Rhodey on TV or play video games in the lounge and Steve just couldn't wrap his mind around the new sport news and keep up with the new console gaming tech so at one point he just gave up trying.

And where's Natasha? Well, everyone's been asking the same thing. No, she's not missing, but she's been-- _different._

Ultimately, Steve Rogers was alone.

That morning when he descended the stairs and arrived at the cafetaria, he ended up leaning by the kitchen counter, playing back the horrific memories from the most recent battle and blamed himself for every misstep he took.

He walked over to the coffee machine and idly watched the machine pour the bitter black coffee to his paper cup, by then he was accompanied by only a few quiet operatives at the facility who kept their head down, afraid to look at him. The tiny flat TV planted on the wall showed what looked like the latest news report of the aftermath of the city, all the destruction that Ultron's army has caused. His other teammates were nowhere to be seen, still.

He stayed there a while, making an omelette and bacon for himself, overcooking it a little on purpose just so he could buy more time: he needed to find a reason to be here longer, all the while wishing that anyone he knows would just show up here and be his company.

At 8 o' clock, Natasha appeared in the doorway and she walked over to the fridge, already dressed up in her casual clothes.

"Morning." He greeted while she pretended he wasn't even there.

She took out a jug of milk, slammed the fridge door shut, gave him a cold look, and walked away.

That went on until the rest of the week. She still did great on fulfilling her duties, sharp during missions, professional and efficient. But in their downtime, she outright refused to talk to anyone at all.

On the second week, he noticed that she secretly snuck out and climbed up the roof of the facility, doing god knows what. She would dissappear and go there every night, and by then she would shut off her phone and pretend to be completely off grid. Everybody knew Natasha was broody, but certainly not like this. This didn't feel right.

One night, he took it upon himself and waited for her by that one window that she always used to sneak out. The facility was already dark, and everyone was probably already asleep. It was 12 in the morning. Steve stood in a dark corner, hoping he could surprise her.

"Not bad for a 200 pound beefcake." She strolled past him dismissively, walking straight for the window.

He rolled his eyes. Who was he kidding, trying to sneak up on the world's best assassin. "Can I join you?" He asked in defeat while she was in the middle of opening the big window.

When she turned her head, her eyes gave him a pointed look, as if the statement had somehow offended her, "what?"

"The roof. That's where you go to every night, right?"

She stayed still right there, dark shadow casted upon her shapely figure while the dim streetlight outside highlighted the smooth features of her flawless skin. They were caught in an eerie silence while he waited for her answer until she reluctantly nodded and said:

"Alright. Come on up."

With her permission, he came right behind her through the window. Lucky for him, the window was big enough for him to get through. The real challenge was how in the hell she managed to get up there. He looked up at the side wall of the facility and simply watched her in awe, admiring all the grace and agility that she portrayed with every precise movement. She climbed along the pipes stuck to the walls, the windowframes, the dented bricks, all the way up to the roof. And she did it all without breaking a sweat.

Her red hair peeked from the corner of the roof once she was up there. "What's holding ya, grandpa?"

Steve rolled his eyes flippantly. "A little too extreme for my taste."

He could hear her laugh aloud up there. It was so nice to hear her laugh. So nice that it brought a smile up his face as well.

He began climbing; he had to admit, it wasn't that hard, but he couldn't guarantee that he looked as graceful as Natasha did when she'd done it, though. Nevertheless, he made it up to the roof anyways, and his mouth parted when he looked at the view from above. The roof was a flat, wide, open space, stretching from one end of the facility to the other. A gigantic pole holding electric lights stood tall above them, illuminating the premises. When he walked to the edge he could see the separate building of the facility, the one with a big letter A painted on its surface. Natasha stood with her back to him, a cloud of contorted smoke floated up to the chilly air from her face. When he walked up to her to see what's going on, he found a piece of cigarette stuck between her lips.

"You smoke?" He asked, not even able to hide his surprise. Before she even got to answer that he went on, "It's bad for you! You really shouldn't make a habit out of it."

She took the stump between her fingers and puffed out more smoke with a mocking giggle. " _Bozhe moi._ You even sound like one of those anti-smoking campaign ads."

Steve squinted at her.

"Relax." She put the stub back between her lips and inhaled deep. "Just for my rainy days."

He put his hands in his pocket, an attempt to soothe his hands from the cold surroundings. "This past week, that's all you've been doing up here?"

"Yeah." She sat down on the ground and he sat next to her, watching her huff and puff the white smoke calmly. "Can't smoke in my room cause I hate the smell and I don't exactly like the way people stare at me when I do it."

He sighed. Guess he just had to accept the fact that she was a smoker, at least for now. "What's going on with you, Nat?"

"Whoa. Way to jump the gun there, cap. How about you let me finish this one and ask me that later." She pointed at the cigarette.

"Fair enough." He looked away now, trying to enjoy the view instead. He could see the city in the distance, a set of tiny flickering lights. The air around him reeked with the smell cigarettes, the scent so strong that he scrunched up his nose whenever he breathed in. The smell took him back to a bunch of memories from _before._ "I used to smoke too, you know."

She peered at him, interested.

"There was this asthma cigarette that I used to take." He smiled as his mind drifted to the past. "I took _a lot_ of those back then."

"Asthma cigarettes?" The space between her eyebrows creased with doubt.

"Yeah. That's what they used to give you, before the inhaler and whatever was invented."

"So? Did it work?"

He nodded shyly. "I guess so. I mean, for a time it would. But it's no permanent cure. And they give you nausea and a hell of a headache."

"You must have loved it when they gave you the serum. That's your permanent cure."

"Bless the heavens for that."

She threw down what's left of the cigarette stub and put it out underneath her boot. Just as he thought she was done, she took out a whole box and lit up another one.

"I'm okay, Steve." She laughed at him when she noticed the look of horror he had in his eyes. "These won't harm me. I've got my healing factor."

"You've got a what?"

"I heal faster than normal people. Though slower than you, still."

"You never told me that."

"There are a lot of things I never told you. " She looked at him with confidence and layers and layers of secrets beneath her green eyes. He took in that look and studied her. She studied him too, and he could guarantee that she did a way better job at it.

"You shouldn't feel guilty." She muttered on a whim, now calmer and less defensive. White smoke fogged up in front of her face, temporarily blocking his access to her eyes.

"Guilty?"

"Sokovia. I know you have a big heart and you always strive for what's best for everyone, but at the end of the day there's only six of us and millions of them."

He looked down, nodding reluctantly. "I know. We can't save everyone."

She left them there in silence, allowing him to think. She knew as much as he did that he needed to clear his head.

"It's Banner, isn't it?" He took a bold move and spoke his mind after their silence. "You're pushing everyone away because he left."

She scoffed and looked away to the dots of city lights in the distance. If anything, she looked impressed. "Spare me your chivalry, Steve. I don't have to remind you that you're not held responsible everytime I sulk."

He didn't care. "So I'm right then? It's Banner."

She looked at him with an unreadable look while he looked back at her, awaiting an answer. They stayed there, gazing at one another with perfect silence until the corner of her lip quirked up to a sneaky smile. "Tell you what," she held the cigarette box and took a piece out, handing it to him. "Join me and I'll tell you."

He raised a brow, looking at her with disbelief. To her this was a game, and she expected him to say no because what she just asked him to do required him to break his stern moral code. She already was looking at him with a winning smile by now.

"You're a bad influence." He commented, and he swore he was just a step away from turning the challenge down before he nodded and took the cigarette and stuck it between his lips. "Light me up." He pointed at the lighter with his chin.

She pursed her lips with surprise but smiled again, this time impressed.

He coughed a few times after she helped him light up the cigarette, the smoke felt coarse as it entered his throat. She laughed at him. "Oh my. What is that?"

"Marlboro."

He blew out the smoke and attempted to inhale again. This time he was calmer and his intake went on smoothly. "This definitely does not taste like the asthma ones."

"Yeah? What did they taste like?" She threw down her second stub and squashed it with her boot. She lit up another one right after.

He squinted as he tried to remember. "Lighter than this one. And it gets you all warm in your lungs."

"Interesting." She blew out a smoke ring, making Steve look at her in awe.

"You do tricks?" He asked rhetorically.

"Only a few. Watch." She inhaled deep, and released multiple tiny smoke rings, each entering the other as she blew them out. She inhaled again, this time releasing tiny smoke rings, each the same size as the other.

"Whoa." Was all Steve was able to say. He had to admit that he rather enjoyed the taste and feel of this Marlboro now. "They run out fast, huh?" He commented, seeing how short his piece was already.

"Uh huh." She agreed. "Want another?"

He threw the stub down and squashed it. "Nah, I'm good. And now you owe me a story."

"Right." She let out a deep sigh. "Where do I even begin?"

Steve scoffed. "Tell me anything."

"He ditched us." She spat, though still quiet and reserved. "Ditched us all and what, he's missing now? Great. So great."

He wanted to ask more. He wanted to know more. He really wanted to but he was too afraid, so afraid that he refrained from doing so. He had a guess, though, about what she could possibly hate Bruce so much for: It wasn't so much about the mere fact that Bruce left her as much as the fact that she had let all her guards fall down and let him through-- only to have him leave her by the end of the day with no consolation.

Steve wanted to reach for her and give her a hug, but he doubted that she'd take it well. Close friends as they were, he never dared question her proximity.

"How could the world's most docile man be such an asshole?" Her voice stayed calm, though still bitter. "Words of advice, don't ever pine. It gets you nowhere."

"Maybe one day, Nat."

"One day what?" She leered at him, doubting his every word. She looked at him with a challenge. He looked back with conviction.

"One day there'll be someone worth staying for."

"And you believe that?"

"Don't you?"

He noticed how her persistence crumbled a little, and she looked away to hide it. "I don't know, Steve. Banner is just... one too many, I guess." And then when she looked back at him, he noticed a change in her eyes, a revelation that she didn't explain to him.

And he never asked her what it meant.

He only knew that after that night, the rooftop became their getaway during tough nights; sometimes she'd be there alone and other times he'd join her. Sometimes it would even be just him sitting alone there, staring at the stars waiting for her to come back while she went away for missions; sometimes she'd be gone for days and he'd start to miss her like crazy but he'd be too proud to say it to her.

When they're up there together, they didn't always talk, and when they did she mostly just listened to him in silence, smoking her cigarettes until he started to get used to the ash sticking to his clothes and even missed the smell when she's not around. She didn't always smoke, though; after a few weeks she finally stopped bringing the cigarettes and she'd take up a picnic basket instead, and they'd eat bread, or drink wine or finish takeaway burgers that either he or she brought up there.

One night she brought a book and found that he'd beat her to the rooftop first, so she smiled as she approached him. He ended up laying flat on the roof surface, looking up at the sky while she rested her head on his lap, reading her book in silence. They barely exchanged words, but he realized that he's never felt so... _not_ lonely until then. He felt serene and safe, like she was a blanket that sheltered him from all the harm and the pressure of the world.

He never said it, though. Never had the courage to.

But it didn't stop him from wondering whether or not she ever felt the same about him, too.


	24. Seagulls

Port of New York and New Jersey, August 2nd, 2017.

"Here's the earpiece." Steve handed her, and she took it without a word. He looked around the docks at the people passing, minding their own business. Oh how he longed for a life like theirs. If only he could focus on this moment in complete peace and pretend chaos isn't going on in the world, he would put down his shield and sleep more soundly. If only.

"Got a lighter?" He asked her, which was their agreed code for "is it safe to talk?"

She wordlessly nodded. "Where've you been?" She then asked, curious. Her eyes darted to the earpiece, avoiding his stare.

"Scouting around."

"Found anything interesting?"

"No. Just civilians and tons of dead fish."

"I found the ship." She informed him, cold and professional. "It's called Ignatio and it's leaving in an hour."

"Where is it?"

"Floating about 700 meters south. I rented a boat that's gonna take us there."

"Why hasn't it left yet? What are they waiting for?"

"Shipments." Natasha answered assuredly. He was silently glad that he had her as a mission partner; she never fails to deliver whatever intel necessary.

"More children?"

"You guessed it."

Steve looked straight to the blue ocean and saw the white dot that was supposedly the ship they were about to get onto. Hard to believe that after all they've gone through they finally were this close to taking down this whole op.

The soldier and the spy were undercover; he was wearing a gray hoodie and a pair of worn out running shoes and she was wearing black shades and a beige coat that hid her tactical suit underneath it. No one seemed to pay attention to them, which is good. To everyone else they looked just like any other passerby on the busy fishing port. He could see seagulls dancing in the air and cawing as they perched on top of a pile of fresh catch wrapped in fishing nets and fishermen shooed them away. The air reeked of the ocean and dead fish, blending into one unpleasant smell, though still faint enough to be bearable. Steve reluctantly breathed through his mouth, not wanting to take in the smell of fish into his nasal cavity.

"Hey Nat?"

She took a quick glance at him before looking away in disdain.

He sighed, staring at his clasped hands in nervousness. "Alright then. How are you?"

"What do you care?" She shot back, sharp and distant. It was clear from her tone that she had no desire in small talks, but he continued anyway:

"It's a good day, you know. Clear sky, cool breeze."

"Steve," she said his name with a soft voice that used to contain the indescribable profession about how much she loved him. But her eyes were cold now, and her tone contained nothing but mere resentment. "I never want to see you again." She curtly muttered, ignoring him and his effort of kindness. "Once this blows over, I don't want to have anything to do with you ever again."

He chewed on the inside of his cheeks, his eyes darkened and his mouth tasted bitter. "You could at least try to be nice."

She sighed, biting on her lower lip like she was biting down a weakness. Her voice was more tender when she uttered her next words."I don't like lying to you, Steve. And I don't wanna start now."

Steve's had enough of this. "It's been a year."

"And what difference should it make?"

"He asked for it, Nat."

"But you listened. You shouldn't have listened."

He opened his mouth, wanting to let out more arguments, but nothing came out. Her eyes stopped him; her strong, clear green eyes that reflected the damage he's done to them.

"I loved you." She glowered, her voice fragments away from shattering onto a tearful cry. At that moment he felt like he was about to fall to his knees in defeat. He never wanted things to turn out this way, for her to see him this way. "In our lives, Steve, we don't live to save our skins. We live to save others. You failed me at that. You saved me because you wanted to protect yourself from the grief and I hate you for that."

She took a deep breath, maintained her composure, and just with that, all that emotion was gone from her expression. She looked like she had never felt anything at all. She was that good at hiding her feelings.

Meanwhile, Steve looked away and waited for the awkward moment to pass, wishing for all this to just end.


	25. D-Day

July 12th, 2016

"Secure the premises, the fastest one to the main lab gets to shut the portal. Destroy it if you have to." Steve Rogers announced.

The Avengers were seated around the oval table of the conference room, mission files scattered all over its surface and a projector showed documentations of the case they're taking on.

The air in the room was full of deep thought and worry—pretty common for a danger of this scale. Captain America took a glance at Iron Man who was seated across from him at the other end of the table. Tony's deep folded frown gave away his fear.

"We've faced Ultron and Loki. I'm sure we'll walk out of this okay." Sam Wilson leaned back in his chair with an almost convincing counterfeit of a relaxed sigh. His hooded eyes gave it all away, though.

"We faced Loki. You've done squat." Clint Barton corrected from his seat across Sam. He had a charming smile on his lips as an effort to lighten the mood. It didn't quite work as he'd planned.

Steve took a furtive glance at Natasha, who was seated calmly next to Clint. Her expression was immensely tough to read—which was not unusual. She had her hands clasped together on top of the table, and she looked back at him right after she noticed that he was looking at her. She said nothing. Gave away nothing.

"Let's go over the files again. I need to make sure that each and everyone of you understands everything clearly." Steve's eyes fell on the young Scarlet Witch, who seemed to have sunk in her seat. Next to her, The Vision placed a palm on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"A bunch of aliens set up a portal in a random office building and plan to unleash their forces from there to conquer the mighty earth." Tony beamed, flippant though his eyes said differently. "Sounds like a normal day for the ol' Avengers."

"Right." Steve nodded and looked around, making sure that there's no clueless face in the room. "No hostages and try your best to avoid casualties. We need to get the people to evac and then set up the bombs and blow that portal to bits. We have to be there by 8 sharp and once we get there we'll have 10 minutes tops." Steve heaved out a deep sigh. "You know your duties. Now let's head out."

The Avengers separated from one another to get ready with their own weapons and gears. They were all silent along the way; not a good sign.

Steve knew he'd better catch up at the others soon at the hangar, but he ended up sitting down on a bench in the locker room, staring at his vibranium shield, his helmet in hand. He was afraid. No one ever talked about how heavy it felt to have people trust their lives to you; trusting your probably half-baked plan and gambling their fates to go out and try to save others. The topic was never discussed, and he didn't dare discuss it with anyone, even Natasha. If he showed weakness, how would his team see him then?

"Tired already? I knew I was too rough last night, but boy did I think you could take it." Natasha's familiar raspy voice sent shivers through his spine. He didn't even hear her come into the room, let alone sneak close to him.

He scoffed, welcoming a chaste kiss on his cheek as she moved swiftly to his side. "Not now, Nat."

She smiled at him when their eyes met. He shrugged away the scattered images he had of her in his dreams last night: The blood dripping from the blade, the murderous look she had in her eyes in that dream. _No, it wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare. Stop it Steve. This is your Natasha. The Natasha that you know_ , he thought as he looked at her. He tried to think about all the nice things about her instead, like how he loved the way she could be all smiley and expressive around him when she usually just stayed cold and quiet around other people. "What's wrong?" She asked, her thumb stroking over his cheek, tracing his cheekbone.

"Nothing." He shook his head, trying to brush the obvious worry off his face. "I just have a bad feeling about this."

"What can I do?" She leaned close, resting her head on his shoulder. Her voice flowed soft and soothing, calming his next intake of breath. He glanced at the clock on the wall, watching the hour. 7.30 a.m. He had 15 minutes left to mope around before the rest of the team get antsy.

"Just try to come outta there in one piece, will ya?"

She chuckled. "Aye aye captain."

He took another deep breath, finally letting his muscles relax for a little bit and leaned his cheek to the top of her head. "All suit up?"

"I'm all set. We should go, you know."

"You're right."

"Hey," Natasha squeezed his hand gently, looking at him with her plump lips pursed onto a thin line. "It's okay."

And right when she'd said it, he just knew that she understood everything he left unsaid in his head.

They held hands in the empty hallways but finally let go once they reached the hangar. She sat next to him to comfort his invisible anxiety, though she kept her proximity and restrained herself from being too expressive.

"Everything's gonna be okay." She whispered to him.

Her conviction, though admirable, was dead wrong this time.


	26. Some Things are too Broken to be Fixed

_Apartment hideout at Hell's Kitchen,_

 _July 28th 2017._

 _"Please, just-- just focus on the mission."_ She said.

He couldn't let go of the images from earlier today. The sight of her crying, the sound of her sobs. He turned away as fast as he could, he did-- because he knew she wouldn't welcome his embrace. But the images haunted him, still.

 _Some things are just too broken to be fixed._ He reminded himself that, replayed the sentence over and over in his head until he felt mentally drained.

There were noises coming from the kitchen. Glasses clanking, tap water running and then stopping, kitchen cabinets creaking in a high pitch as they swung open and closed. _Natasha,_ he figured. At least admist the awkward silence and their stalemate he still received constant alerts of her presence in the next room from the noises she'd been making.

She kept herself busy alright: during the day she'd be around the radios, trying to hijack a signal or she'd be on the computer hacking new intel. Then she'd be pacing back and forth around the narrow apartment hall when she grew tired of sitting down, the old wood squeaking beneath her feet. And then at night she'd be silent: sleeping or maybe brooding in the only bedroom in this grimy apartment. Knowing the person she was, he suspected that the latter was more probable; Natasha has always had trouble sleeping alone, especially during tough nights.

And where did Steve sleep? The couch. The banged up, old smelling, cracky, black pleather couch, hardened by time. It was either that or the floor. Some nights he preferred the floor. He didn't mind. Afterall it was his idea that she should take the bed. She didn't like to argue so she nodded after the first offer.

Right now he was seated on the oval shaped blue rug that was laying on the floor; the rug being as old and stale as the couch but warm enough to comfort him from the cold laminate floor-- it's not as bad as it sounds, he could vouch for it. He had his back leaned comfortably against the mouth of the couch, his knees were bent, serving as padding for his sketch book that was laid open across his lap. His right hand was busy scribbling a decent doodle of a set of baloons, floating free in the air. He had a small, simple vinyl turntable laid on the floor by his feet, spinning Frank Sinatra's greatest hits. He hummed along, his breathing loose and steady. He always tries to enjoy the little things amidst the rubble of chaos which he called life: this activity, this music, is part of that.

Sinatra's smooth voice was singing the lyrics to 'Strangers in the Night' when Natasha appeared at the entryway, leaning to one side with a tilted head.

"Hi." He murmured, almost with disbelief. Last time he saw her was this noon, and a rain of guilt suddenly swept over him again.

"Hi." She replied, quiet and suspiciously docile.

He believed they had a matter to discuss, but she's not usually one for initiating this kind of heavy discussion. "Look, if you're looking for a fight, I'm tired." He admitted while she still stood there, glancing at the vinyl player, her green eyes a shade darker under the dim lighting of the room. "I'm sorry I tried to talk to you and indirectly asked you to have sex with me. I was out of line." And when he said it, he meant it.

"Don't be sorry." Her voice was low and calm, almost as soft as a purr. She entered the room with graceful steps that could've fooled anyone. Anyone but people closest to her: someone like him.

"You've been drinking." He made that conclusion once he found her kneeling in front of him, her fingers reaching for his sketchbook before she threw it across the room, her eyes locked onto his the whole time.

The way her face looked was a sight he could not decipher; her eyes stayed sharp, though there's this strange lunacy in the way she looked at him. She leaned in close with a swift move, swinging forward and clashing her lips onto his, pressing him to a deep, breathy kiss. He could taste the alcohol in her mouth, the bitter taste that stung his senses. A gasp escaped his throat, yet it was muffled by her searing kiss; his senses immediately took in her touch and his body reacted without a second thought:

He kissed back.

He loved it. Gosh, how he longed for her. Everything felt so wrong and so right at the same time. Her fingers dug into his hair, trailing his scalp and pressing him deeper onto her mouth, a gesture so he wouldn't pull back. She moved her body and straddled his lap, her pelvis pressing down on his and for a second her lips stopped moving when she realized the hardness in his groin.

"You're drunk." He managed to say when she finally pulled back and looked at him with hunger in her eyes. She was craving for him and she wasn't ashamed to let it show; this wasn't Natasha, this was another version of her, one that clearly wasn't clearheaded.

"You asked if we could have sex."

"I didn't—" He grunted, watched with mouth agape while she unbuttoned his jeans, "it was you who made the conclus—oh fuck." He gasped when she took him in her hand and began stroking. "Natasha." He moaned, warning her.

She looked at him with a sharp glare."What?"

"You hate me."

"I do."

"You're going to regret this in the morning."

She gave no answer to that. She just leaned in and kissed him again to muffle his words and his pleasured moans. When she pulled back again, he looked at her with helpless eyes, though those baby blues still rang her a weak warning, telling her to stop all this. She then felt his reluctant hand wrap around her wrist, stopping her from pleasing him further. "Natasha." He pleads, achingly aroused but still sane enough to stop her. "Why?"

"Shut up." She yanked his hand away harshly and sank down, taking him in her mouth. This caused him to groan aloud, unable to control himself. _That's it. He's all in_ , she closed her eyes and ravished in her victory, her skilled tongue working all over his shaft, her throat taking him all the way down. He was so helpless that he couldn't do anything but place a weak palm on the back of her head and constantly groan and hiss with pleasure. _I hate you_. She thought when she glanced up and her green eyes met his clear blue, lost in the pleasure and in awe watching her.

She _wanted_ him _so bad_ that it hurts—wanted to relive what it was like to be with him again, even if it costs her her dignity and pride. So she took a dozen shots of vodka and waited for it to kick in—waited for it to drive her crazy and shameless. _Just one night_ , she reminded herself as she patiently, skillfully drove him to his release, pulling her mouth away just as he came, letting him stain his shirt and the carpet. His clothed chest was heaving up and down breathlessly, his face and neck were glistening with sweat and his cheeks flushed red, looking at her with ecstasy and so much lust that he couldn't contain. He watched her, hypnotized and eyes glued to the shape of her body as she pulled down her jeans and panties and let them pool on the floor. When she stepped away from the garments his hands reached up, wordlessly begging for a taste of her skin, for her to return to his reach.

"Shirt off." She waved a hand at him and he did what she asked like a good little lackey.

She sank back down to his lap, lips pressing against his and tongue flicking the sides of his mouth teasingly, breathless moans escaped both of them as she slowly sank herself onto him, all the way until he was fully nestled inside her. He pulled her blouse up, almost harshly, and she complied, letting him toss it away within a second. Her bra followed soon after. His hands slapped and gripped onto her firm behind, and his eyes shifted constantly between her face and her breasts, watching her please herself while his hands stayed on her hips, securing her in place. She wrapped her arm around his neck, slowly making way to chis chest as they kept going.

There were no more words: they were too high in ecstasy to think of anything.

Panting and moaning, she braced herself to look at him, he had his mouth parted, lips gleaming wet and swollen, eyes reflecting hunger back to hers. This felt so familiar, _so good._

 _Oh how I miss this._ It took her back to the days when they used to _disgustingly_ made love to one another, when they'd spend the whole weekend in bed, barely clothed. They'd talk in between breaks, they'd laugh during the sex. She needed to feel a tint of that. Just a hint of what used to be, a release from her torturous insomnia, a break from their tedious routine—sick of being trapped in this damned apartment.

He held her closer when she came, tracing kisses along her neck and nudging his nose to the underside of her jaw, listening to her elevated moans and sharp breaths as her body shuddered. He loves her. He still does, and she knew it.

"Don't say anything stupid." She kissed him right when she saw _the_ look in his eyes, the somewhat _disturbing_ way he looked at her, exactly the same way as she used to. She drove him to his own release, closing her eyes and moaning at the feeling of warmth entering her insides at his peak.

They stayed there for a while, catching their breaths, waiting for their heavy panting to subside. Her clear, pale skin flickered with tiny balls of sweat. He reached for her, thumb stroking over the two fresh dark blotches on the side of her neck. "Sorry." He mumbled while she did her best not to look at him.

"Shit." She hissed. "Can I still cover it?"

He nodded. "Maybe if you wear one of those high necked sweaters."

She chuckled at that. "They're called turtlenecks."

"Right."

Her gaze swept over him in a flash, and she looked away to the open door.

He placed his hands over her damp, naked back, looking at her with a beg. "Stay."

She shook her head and stood up aloof, picking up her scattered clothes in silence while he sat there zipping his pants closed again and picking up his shirt though he hadn't put it back on yet. He finally noticed that the turntable was already playing 'Strangers in the Night' again. There were 6 tracks in this side of the disc, he wondered how many times the album has replayed over their whole encounter.

When he looked at her again she was standing next to the couch, already putting her blouse back on. He took her pants from the floor and stood up to hand it to her. "Sleep with me." He asked, searching for her eyes.

She took the pants and slid them back on, silent for a moment before she said, "I can't."

The next thing she did was storm out the door, big steps and heavy heart. He went after her.

"What, you're just gonna leave? Just like that? I'm not some toy you can throw around—"

She stopped at the hall and turned to him. "You NEVER objected. You wanted it as much as I did."

"Yes, because I want you!"

"I DON'T!"

His heart sank hearing the answer. She was looking at him now, rage and hate all built up in her countenance. He looked away to the wall, defeated.

"Please, Nat. Just one night. Tonight."

She said nothing back, but she looked away too now. Her stance was wobbly and she was swaying a little during her effort to stand still. She stretched an arm out to the wall to support herself, the other hand massaging the bridge of her nose to soothe her aching head.

"Fine." She finally replied, her voice quiet as if she were afraid. "Go to the bedroom. I'll catch up with you."

He gave her one last look before agreeing with a delighted smile. He changed onto his sleeping attire: a plain white shirt and a pair of shorts. He entered the tidy, impersonal dark bedroom and stood by the windowframe, looking out to the quiet neighborhood outside. The digital clock on the nightstand displayed the hour: 3.00 a.m.

Natasha entered the bedroom at 3.30, carrying a half-empty bottle of vodka. He knew that she had stored three full bottles in the kitchen. He wondered if she'd finished them all tonight.

"How much have you had?" He asked her after she placed down the bottle on the other nightstand and began to undress.

"I don't know." She squinted, her voice showed how much further she had driven to insobriety. "Two? Not sure."

"Golly gee, you're really drunk now."

"Uh-huh."

"Natasha." He walked up to her and helped her stand up straight. He reached for her drawers and picked up a clean, oversized shirt. He paused for a moment; he remembered this ivory white, ketchup stained t-shirt.

It used to belong to him.

 _Can't believe she still kept it all this time._

Looking at her, he couldn't help but thought about how much he loves her. He never stopped—and he wondered if he ever will.

He helped her put the shirt on—his old, comfy shirt, and settled her for bed. It wasn't a hard task, her body was as light as he remembered when he lifted her off the floor and laid her on the bed.

"Come here." She flashed him a kind, drunken smile and he climbed the bed, laying under the covers by her side.

"What?" He barely managed to ask before she kissed him, making him savor the bitter alcohol on top of her lips and the inside of her mouth. He welcomed the kiss and it lasted for a good while, so slow and breathy and so tender that it felt sad because he knew she'd never kiss him this way anymore in her right mind.

"I can't sleep." She admitted long after their kiss ended and she had her head laid on top of his chest, her arm draped across his abs. He brushed his fingers along her crimson hair gently. "Me neither."

"Not cause I'm drunk. I mean, I haven't had a good sleep in a while."

"Makes two of us."

"Steve, I'm _really_ drunk."

He sighed. "I know."

"The room is kinda spinning-- I'm good though." She giggled. "It's a good kind of spin."

"You shouldn't have taken so much vodka."

"But I had to. Otherwise I can't stand you."

He didn't know how to answer that so he stayed silent, staring up at the corroded ceiling, tainted with the color of rust. He tried to focus on her breathing, her heat next to him. This was probably the last time he'd get to hold her like this so he had to take in every moment and keep it memorized as vividly as he could.

"When was the last time you slept with someone?" She suddenly asked, innocent and sweet.

He scoffed, reminiscing his pathetic life this past year. "You're the only person I've ever slept with, Nat."

The answer silenced her.

"And what about you?" He made the courage to ask even though the answer was probably going to hurt him.

"Tried to. Could never get on with it though."

His heart thud hard against his chest. "How come?"

"You."

He swallowed a lump of harsh regret, closing his eyes and was welcomed with a barrage of memories, both old and new, the memories that had her as the center of his universe. He could feel her move but stayed silent when her head left his chest and the cheap mattress creaked as she shifted, and his heart jumped a little when she felt her palm on top of his heart. "Take your shirt off." She said. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. He did as she said without a question. There they were, faces parallel to one another, looking at the other person with the astonishing admission that they haven't truly moved on from one another, yet she hated him too much take him as she did in the past and he was too covered with guilt to take her back.

He tried to even his breathing when her fingers tiptoed along his chest, delving onto the craters and hard curves of his defined muscles, making way down to his abdomen, and then back to his sternum. The way she looked at him and the tingles in his skin that she gave him made him want to pin her down the bed right now and strip her naked again.

"What are you doing, Natasha?" He asked with a desperate, conscious pondering when her hand finally rested on top of his heart. "What are _we_ doing?"

She shook her head and bit her lip. "You're thinking too much. Don't."

"Thinking is the only thing keeping me from fucking you senseless right here."

She let out a bitter chuckle and looked at him almost amenably. "Go ahead. Tonight's not over yet."

With the permission, he attacked her lips with a wild, hard kiss right after. He climbed the bed on his fours on top of her and they stripped away all their clothes, the sounds of their moans filled the quiet apartment.

She kissed him everywhere and he did the same, leaving hickeys on her waist, her abdomen, the inside of her thigh and on her breasts. At one point after her second orgasm he made her wail so loud that she dug her fingers to his back, drawing blood. She ended up beneath him, on top of him, next to him, in front of him. All night long until the sun raised high on the horizon and they laid next to each other, sleeping soundly.

Only when he woke up that noon, he was alone on the bed, and when he walked out of the room to look for her she was already in the radio room, working. From then on they both pretended like nothing ever happened that night.

He'd never forget that night, though. He kept it in his memories, tightly wrapped in an inept blanket of memory-- close to his heart.


	27. The Miracles

_An uninhibited island, a while ago._

With one swift movement, Bucky drew the intruder close and gripped his head and neck, skillfully twisting it with a deadly cracking sound. The man didn't even get the chance to scream, much less to attack. Bucky was too fast.

Nick Fury glanced back and forth between him and the new dead body before giving him a nod of approval.

Just when they're about to keep stepping forward,

Several strong hands pulled them onto different directions, parting them.

"Fucking die you pricks!" Sam yelled.

Sam Wilson struggled to break free from the vice-like grip. He grunted, roared and used all his strength to slam his fists hard against the strong arms. There were two soldiers dragging him, one of them had a grip on his neck, the other held his wrists, securing him in place. They dragged him along the meadow, while he yelled at them with foul words.

"Sam!" He could hear Bucky's voice call for him in panic and desperation.

 _Bucky._ _Fuck. Fuck. They can't hurt Barnes._

 _Dammnit where the fuck is Fury? Can't fucking see him with all these grass!_

Sam was about to scream the winter soldier's name back before one of his captors crudely struck a palm over his mouth, muffling his voice. Sam desperately tried to break free from their grip, until one of his hands slipped away. He used the opportunity to grab his pistol from the holster and aimed a shot at one of the soldiers.

"Don't!" One of the masked soldier hissed, in one swift move grabbed his wrist and redirected the pistol, making Sam release a bullet to the blue sky above. The sound of gunshot echoed in the air, sending the birds above onto cooing and scattering up the sky in a frenzied screech.

Sam noticed that his captor's voice was raucous; coarse and inhuman, almost as if a bug was talking instead of a man. His face, along with his companion's, were both fully covered by dark goggles and black mouth masks that molded the lines of their nose and jaw. They had slender figures, their arms were scrawny though their torsos looked broad and huge due to the heavy armor. One of them was considerably shorter than the other, though. "Don't shoot us!" He hissed again, this time sounding like an animal-- like that of a snake.

"Motherfuckers. FUCK Y'ALL!"

The other soldier growled with exasperation and gripped his wrist so tight he had no choice but to let the pistol go. Sam screamed in pain, his grip loosened, allowing the first soldier to take the pistol off his hand and threw it carelessly onto the meadow.

"LET GO OF ME, you fuckin' bastards!"

Sam panickedly glanced around, to the tall grass that surrounded him, and up at the strong arms that kept dragging him. His legs kicked and kicked away aimlessly to the air like a mad stallion: it did him no good. The soldiers kept dragging him, ignored his cuss and struggles, until they stopped at the end of the meadow; they threw him harshly to an open space by a tall, grand wall of a plateau. Two other soldiers appeared from the meadow with Nick Fury and threw the older man to Sam's side.

Nick landed with a tired grunt. He had a new cut on his lips, a fresh bloodtrail hanging on his chin.

Sam stood up defensively, raising his rifle and aimed it at one of the four men, who were all dressed in black armour.

The one he was aiming his rifle at raised his hands. _"Don't shoot."_ it was the same one that threw his gun away.

"And why shouldn't I do that?" Sam barked ferociously. He took a gander at Nick Fury who was still lying on the ground, collecting himself.

"Because we're on the same side." The soldier on the farthest left took a step forward. Sam immediately aimed the rifle at him now. He too, raised his hands, capitulating.

"Fuck that." Nick Fury groaned. "You punched me in the gut."

The second soldier on the left let out a grunt that sounded like a bear's threatening growl. This one had a lighter voice compared to the others. "You tried to shoot us. We had no choice."

"Look, look!" The soldier on the farthest right quickly took off his goggles and mask, revealing a gaunt, pale face with scaly skin, lopsided blue eyes, wide, wrinkled pale lips and a head filled with bald spots.

He was just a kid.

A _heavily_ disfigured kid, 16 years old at most.

Sam's mouth parted with surprise, unsure what to make of this. He remembered this kind of disfigurement-- this was same kind as the kids that he'd found in the lair dowtown with Steve and Natasha. The same _kind_ of kid as the one who reached for his shoulder from the backseat during their rescue attempt and said, " _you should have left us"_ with a weak voice, before they combusted, setting the whole van on fire.

 _The experimented kids,_ he realized.

Sam Wilson now froze in his stance, allowing the rest of the soldiers to open their face covers as well. All of them were heavily disfigured in different ways-- the boy at the farthest left had a weird skull shape, it was as if his skull had grown thorns, portruding messily under his skin. Next to him was a girl with dark skin whose nose was replaced by a gaping hole and the side of her face looked like it's been scraped away, exposing dried flesh and partially severed cheekbone. Next to her was a boy, the shortest of them all, looked like he was the youngest, too. He had short, copper colored hair, and his face looked like it's been melted off; his eyes were positioned on different heights of his face, his lips were as symmetrical as a Picasso piece and his one jaw was lower than the other. A lump of loose skin was hanging under his jaw, almost like a bloodhound.

"We're not pretty." The girl croaked, her sore voice sending chills through his spine. "But we're here to help."

Sam looked at Nick, who was now standing next to him, waiting for his input.

Nick switched glances between the kids, his flat expression unreadable. "On what price?"

"No price. We know your friends." The youngest-looking, shortest one took a step forward groggily. He looked like he could be ten years old at most, looking all innocent and small and weak despite the fact that Sam just witnessed exactly how strong this kid was.

Sam stood more upright. "Aren't all of you supposed to be under mind control or something?"

The one with the spiky head shook his head and stared at Sam intently. "They tried to indoctrinate us. Put thoughts in our heads. But they don't have the technology for mind control."

Nick quirked a brow. "And did it work at all?"

"On most of us, yeah."

Sam pursed his lips onto a thin line, ruminating his options. Perhaps he should give them a shot. Maybe they're telling the truth afterall.

The falcon let out a sigh at last. He looked into those scared, innocent eyes and lowered his rifle.

"I slipped a knife in her suit-- right before they threw her off the ship!" The loose-skinned boy exclaimed with a hopeful stare. " I wanted to save her, I did, but our handlers were there. Did the knife save her? Did it help her?"

"Tom, they don't know what you're talking about." Said the girl. The little boy, Tom, looked down, his excitement diminished.

The boy with lopsided eyes opened his mouth with a heavy outtake of a breath, a look of horror filled his eyes as he remembered the event. "Your friends, Black Widow and Captain America-- they took over the ship. Managed to gain the upper hand for a while."

"Then what happened?" Nick Fury asked, curious and concerned.

"One of the Miracles snitched and told boss. They didn't trust Cap and Widow." The spike headed kid muttered in gloom.

"One of the what?"

"The Miracles. I mean, kids like us. Kids that they-- you know, changed. That's what they call us." Tom explained. He then pointed at the girl, saying, "Oh you don't know our names! She's Tiana," he then pointed to the kid to the farthest left, the one with the spikes up his head, "and this is Hunter--and this is Julian. He's the oldest." Lastly pointed at the kid next to him, the one with lopsided eyes.

Sam waved at them awkwardly, pursing his lips together. "Nice to-- uh-- meet you all."

Nick Fury rolled his eyes, uninterested in the petty discussion. "Get on with the story."

"Right." The lopsided eyed one, Julian, stifled a cough. "Yeah, well, after the boss found out he showed up with reinforcements and some of the Miracles commited mutiny."

"They experimented on the captain, tried to extract the serum out of him or somethin." Said Tiana. "Then they started putting things on Black Widow as well-- I can still remember her screams." She looked away and all of them fell into silence for a moment. "Few days later they tied her to an anchor and threw her overboard. Captain America broke free from his binds and went after her. They were shot at. We never saw them again."

Sam and Nick's faces fell. They were all silent for a moment, mourning the incident. Nick instantly regretted the fact that he sent the two for this mission. Natasha was like a daughter he never had, though never would he ever admit it to anyone, especially her. He hoped they're both doing alright.

"Natasha was really nice to me. Steve even drew me a picture, you wanna see?" Tom began digging through his pocket.

"Tom, this is not the time, okay?" Julian squeezed the younger boy's shoulder, saying his words with a tender tone-- as tender as that animalistic voice could get, at least. He then looked up at Sam Wilson with a great deal of determination and faith. "We don't have much time. Our orders are to kill you both and to apprehend your metal armed friend-- but we know that you're the good guys! like-- like Captain America-- and you can help us, so please, help us."

Nick and Sam exchanged glances. Nick sighed. "Guess that's we're here. How can we help?"

"Take us _home."_ Hunter blurted, his eyes widened with hope. "Take us away from the evil man."

Tiana then rolled up her sleeve and showed a metal wristband with a bleeping green light on it. "He'd blow us up if we break the rules. _Please_ help us. Natasha and Steve tried to-- but they're helpless now."

Sam took a step forward, his heart just skipped a beat. "Helpless? So you know what happened to them? You know where they are?"

"One of the chemicals they put in her, it enabled us to trace her. It was a faint trace, though. One of the Miracles picked up a scent but it dissappeared within the fifth day. So we know they're somewhere in one of these islands but we don't know which one precisely. They're definitely not in this one, though." Said Julian.

Tiana stepped forward. "Look, we've left you a boat on the eastern side of the island. We'll go back to our handlers and tell them you're dead."

"And Barnes?" Nick asked, all business.

"Barnes is coming with us. We're already risking our lives by letting you two go-- we can't help you get Barnes. There's talk that _he_ 's found a buyer."

"Who's he?"

"Our boss. The evil man." Said the youngest.

"Do you know his name?" Sam asked again. "Is it Ulysses Klaue?"

"We think that's him." The girl nodded.

"A buyer?" Sam frowned, turning to look at Nick Fury who just looked back at him flatly.

"He's selling Barnes." Nick concluded. "And I think I know who the buyer might be."

Tom was about to say something, right when his comm piece suddenly spoke, with a heavy voice of a man filling the other end. "Squad two. Mission update."

"Mission completed." Tom instantly replied, smiling awkwardly at Sam whilst doing so.

"Get back to the beach then you ugly mutts."

"Yes sir."

The kids gave them one last look. "We gotta go." Julian sighed heavily. All of them then turned away and left Sam and Nick alone, the two men dazed and confused as of what to do next. The smallest one, Tom, looked back at them one last time with a smile and a wave. "Say hi to Steve and Natasha for me."


	28. Masquerade

_The ship Ignatio, August 2nd, 2017._

Natasha Romanoff massaged her sore upper arm. She winced a little at the pain caused by her own thumb stroke, realizing that the heavy action that she just commited might have given her at least a couple bruise. No big deal, just the good ol' taste of violence, beating up bad guys and, well, killing them.

She was standing outside the cargo ship's bridge, just by the handrails. The warm afternoon sun shone gracefully above and its warmth provided her tiny comfort amidst her restless soul. _Well, at least the ship is ours now_ , she sighed, looking out at the vast entirety of the ship and the rows cargo haul from this vantage point. Her sight could make out quite a few children wandering about below her, and everytime she felt like leaving this mission she kept reminding herself that she was ultimately there to help others; _you're helping the children, Nat._ The children, not Steve. Not Steven fucking Rogers who she wished she never had to see again.

Her palm moved to the side of her neck, to the days-old hickey that he left her that drunken night. Her jaw stiffened when her mind automatically drifted back to the fragments of memories that clung to her like a recurring nightmare.

She shook away her thoughts and walked downstairs to the below deck, where she found Steve standing alone, skin gleaming with sweat and his eyes reflecting his exhaustion. He looked like he'd just arrived on this floor.

"What'd you do with the bodies?" She asked him, indifferent.

"The children helped me throw them overboard." He bent down, resting his palms on his knees with a grimace and heavy breathing."How's the brigde looking?"

"They're headed for Brazil. I was just gonna ask you what we're going to do next now that the ship is ours."

He rose, now standing up straight with regained strength, his blue eyes looking at her with wonder. "Nat, I'm not your captain. You're free to make the call." His voice was unusually quiet when he said it.

"I know. I just think that-- you'd make a way more solid decision for this one than I would. I trust you." She folded her arms, figuratively protecting herself from the tension that suddenly rose between them. She tried to ignore it.

He froze, lips parted but not able to say anything. She figured that might happen; he was, afterall, still in love with her.

She knew he must be repeating that sentence in his head: " _I trust you."_ She pitied him for having to carry so much emotional baggage. It must be painful having to see her this way, everyday.

She knew how it must feel because she too, _felt it._

He swallowed a lump of pain and began, "Well, we can't turn back now. Everyone wants to incarcerate us-- and the children, Nat. You know what they look _like_. What would people say when they see them?"

"Alright then. Brazil it is." She looked at him, though with hard effort.

He nodded, now constantly twisting his right shoulder joint and bending his neck to various sides.

"What's up with you?" Her tone remained apathetic though her eyes betrayed her.

"Nothing. Just strained a muscle."

She bit her lip, doubting for a moment before she lifted her chin and said, "Here. Let me."

"You really don't have to--"

"Bullshit. You're no help when you can't throw a proper punch. Here." She already walked over to him and stood behind him, tenderly massaging his shoulders. She noticed how quickly he tensed up underneath her touch. "Relax." She murmured, though she doubted that it'll help at all. "Tell me where it hurts."

He hissed when she touched his right scapula. "I'll heal, Nat. You really don't have to do this."

Her lips were sealed now as she stood there staring at his broad shoulders with her hands on them. She pictured him shirtless, his muscles tensing and loosening with his movements as she traced kisses along his spine. _That was a different life_ , she reminded herself.

A lewd part of her wished that he would just turn around and kiss her, but her common sense knew better. There was this constant battle inside her head; in a way the thought of touching him disgusts her but she also knew that her whole body craved for him in her sleep; It was like a muscle memory; the feel of him, the soft curves of his broad, hard shoulder, and when she touched him a jolt of electricity flowed underneath her skin, making her hate him even more for still being able to affect her this way. She could even feel her heart beating faster.

 _I hate you._

"Do you think this one is a bruise?" She asks once she returned to reality, her tone tenderer.

"I don't know." Her warmer voice calmed him a little. She could feel his muscles loosen. "I might need to look in the mirror later and check."

"Certain it's not a strained muscle?"

She heard him sigh in defeat. " Well, I've got multiple pain sources. Can you pull my right arm?" She did as he asked, pulling his right arm to the back until they could hear a crackling sound. A good kind of crack. He groaned in pain for a moment, until she heard him chuckle. "Wow. Okay. That settles it, thank you."

"You're welcome." She quickly stepped back, partially glad that she didn't have to stand so close to him anymore.

"Nat," he turned around, cheeks flushed when he faced her. She hated that face. Hated that stupid look he had, hated that stupid voice, hated how truly good looking he was. "I found the food storage. We might have to go downstairs in a bit and help prep food for the kids." His stance showed that of a nervous man, the way the corner of his lips were strained and the way his eyes kept stealing glances at her gave away so much of what he's thinking about, more than his mouth was willing to say.

Even back when they first started to wove this _romantic_ relationship she had always doubted how long it will last; sure, the sex was fantastic and Steve was the perfect epitome of a gentleman that you'd see on the pages of those silly women magazines-- but deep down she had always wondered how good they were for each other.

Even in the beginning she could clearly see how they have always wanted very different things.

They had very contrast ideas of viewing the world; he'd always wanted to settle down and start a family when all she ever wanted was an atonement for her sins. He wanted to fall in love while she never even thought about it until she'd come to realize that she had fallen for him. He saw her as a goddess, thought of her as being too good for him but she never even once believed that. _She_ never deserved that good a man, she never deserved Steve Rogers. She was a vermin, who had done more harm than good to the world.

 _That's why s_ he'd always thought that death for saving others was the perfect way to go-- but he took that away from her, asked her to live her life knowing that he had to kill her bestfriend-- a loyal, kind family man-- so that she could go on living her miserable life.

And now here they were, two years later standing in front of each other and he still was giving her the exact same confession: how he was still head over heels for her, a fool that would do anything to keep her safe. He might be powerful and strong in the eyes of others, but in her audience he was nothing but a lovelorn cretin.

They ended up going downstairs to the cafetaria in an awkward silence, where they found several children wandering about. Steve called them up and told them to inform the others that it was dinner time while Natasha just stood there, away from the kids, hugging herself. She wasn't good at making first impressions. She's good at _pretending_ to, though. Having to act genuine was another thing entirely.

Then there was this kid. One short, copper haired kid with olive colored eyes who wasn't paying attention to Steve's sayings. He fearlessly looked at her with a curious stare, making Natasha stare back to get a better look at him. She felt bad for him immediately: he didn't deserve to be a lab rat. Those innocent eyes made her want to bawl out in tears. What the experiments had done to him; that face, that skin-- made his skin look melted and loose like a shar-pei dog that he barely looked human.

The kid began pacing towards her. Tiny steps with a look of awe.

"You're so pretty." He said with an adorable high pitched voice. Steve looked back at the interaction and smiled at her in the distance. She smiled back, awkwardly.

She's not sure what to say. _Thank you?_ No. It just felt weird. _I know?_ That would make her sound like a conceited asshat.

"What's your name kid?" She asked instead, loosening herself up a bit. She was a good aunt, she told herself. She knew how to handle Clint's kids. _Yeah, but they're Clint's. This one's a stranger._

"Thomas. But they call me Tom." He smiled, showing a row of incomplete baby teeth.

She bent down, and offered him her hand. "Well, Tommy, nice to meet you. I'm Natasha."

"No one ever calls me Tommy."

Her lips quirked up to a a smile. "Yeah, you look like a Tommy to me. It'll be your special nickname. You like that?"

He chuckled, blushing. "Yeah. I like it." His smile widened as he shook her hand. "I saw you on TV! Me and the other boys-- we always talk about how we much wanted to meet you. We think you're really pretty."

 _There it is again._ "Really?" She chuckled as she stood up straight. "Well that sounds wonderful. I'd love to meet them."

"They'd love to meet you." He nodded. "But-- they're back home and I don't think they will remember me."

"Yeah, how come?"

"Because I look so different now." His eyes glinted with dark gloom. The way he said it so innocently made it hurt more to hear. "I'm sure they'll still be happy to see you, though."

"Look, kid," she placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him right in the eyes, all serious and determined all the sudden. "We'll take you home, Tommy. I promise you that, okay? And these boys, they're your brothers?"

"Yeah, but we're not like my real, _real_ brothers. We live together in the orpahanage."

She felt a pang in her heart. She knew what it felt like, knew _exactly_ how it felt like. "When you come back-- they'll take you as you are. They're your family."

"When we come back, will you come with me to see the boys?" He looked back at her with a hopeful stare.

She really can't promise that; she didn't even know what will happen to her once she gets back. Nothing good, she presumed. "I'll try."

An army of children came storming into the room. There were a lot of them, probably around fifty kids. Most of them looked disoriented, as some of them had just been released from the confines of the metal containers. _Yes_ , the ship crew kept them in metal containers.

Steve began announcing orders with his authoritative Captain America voice and she knew she should be paying attention but she couldn't get herself to. Looking at the kids, what the experiments had done to them-- all that damage . There was no turning back from _that._ She wanted to punch herself in the gut for not being there to stop all of this sooner, for letting all _this_ happen to so many human beings.

She could see Steve, surrounded by awestruck kids, listening his every word like he was a prophet of some kind. He smiled at them, laughed with them, high-fived them and listened to what they had to say. He turned those tired, confused faces onto a series of happy laughter and giggles. She admired that.

She was still standing at the same spot when he walked over to her with a serious look later on. "I just told the kids that they can grab whatever they want in the food storage for tonight." He then turned to the kids, "Hey guys? Listen up. Take whatever you want from food storage for supper okay? Be mindful, though. We gotta make sure our food'll last for at least two weeks. Oh and be sure to return here once you've taken your food! We eat _together,_ okay?"

The kids nodded and mumbled indistinctly before they began walking out of the room.

"Hey, Tom, you coming?" An older kid exclaimed, and that's when Natasha realized that the little boy was still standing there this whole time.

Tom exchanged glances between Natasha and his friend. He ended up looking at her, with hopeful eyes stating, "can I sit with you later?"

 _What's_ up with this kid? She frowned, not quite used to children being fond of her. "Yeah, sure thing kiddo."

He smiled and waved at her by the door.

"That one seems to like you." Steve commented.

"An anomali." She scoffed, trying to ignore the fact that he kept his eyes on her, absentmindedly admiring her figure from where he stood.

"Don't be harsh. I know you love kids."

"Back off, Rogers." She warned, though still timid, like a tiger's chuff.

He looked away and leaned on the empty pastry shelf behind him. He was silent for a moment, watching the kids as they go and re-enter the room, how peaceful and happy they looked as they sat down around the cafetaria tables and munched on their food hungrily. Some of them didn't even have hands anymore: some had claws, some others had nothing.

 _Yet they looked so happy_.

"We should probably start rationing the food by next meal." She suggested quietly.

He agreed. "Yeah, you're right. We should start tonight, when they're sleeping. If you're not tired, I mean."

"I'm not tired."

"Yeah?" He chewed on the inside of his cheeks nervously. "That's good."

She couldn't stand the tension, couldn't even bear to look at him and risk crazy thoughts entering her mind-- so she stormed out to get something to eat. He caught up with her, _of course._

"Natasha, be nice." He said as she was picking up military-issued MRE. He waited until the last kid leave the room before he started, "Back at the docks-- you got me thinking. I know you don't want to see me, and believe me I don't want to see you again as well, but--"

Her sharp glare stopped him. She rolled her eyes at the bullshit he just said. "I thought you've given up lying."

"You're right, okay?" His voice was weak, defeated. His eyes couldn't even make an attempt to look at her now. "We shouldn't see each other again. I can't move on if I keep seeing you, Nat."

"We didn't see each other for a year and you're still as pathetic."

"And you're not?" He scoffed, challenging her, their eyes met and he humiliated her with a look that referred to one specific _event_ that made her instinctively shifted her stance to cover the hickey. She could make out from the corner of her eye that he clenched his fist and looked at her with regret right after, though. It wasn't like him to snap at her like that. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

"No, you're right." She made the courage to let herself look at him. She let him see through her eyes, peek open a window just enough so that he could see that deep down, she was hurting all the same.

He was _absolutely_ right. They were both complete losers. Why even bother try to compete? They'd lose all the same.

"Hey," his eyes softened as he looked on. "As much as you hate me, please, please, please, I'm begging you-- be nice in front of the kids. After all they've been through, the least we can do is be nice to them. I know there's a good heart somewhere in there. Don't pull back, Nat." He gave her one last look, took an MRE for his own and left the room with slumped, tired shoulders.

She stood there for a moment, thinking with her ego until she gave in and accept the taxing admission that he was right. Steve was undeniably, above all things, one wise son of a bitch and she just had to live with that. And no matter how much she ended up hating and despising him, she never liked lying to him, never liked putting up an effort to deceive him. But now he was asking for it and she decided that maybe, for once, she should listen.

"Wait. Steve." This time it was her who tried to catch up with him. It wasn't a wonder that he was surprised by the notion. He looked at her with mouth parted, melted to mush.

She forced herself to smile and squeezed his bicep. "A truce. "For the kids, okay?"

He took a deep breath and nodded, trying his best to mask every other thought that he had of her. "For the kids." He took a deep breath and strolled along next to her, heading for the cafetaria.

He stole a few doubtful glances at her, enough times for to figure out that he wanted to say something.

"What?" She asked.

"Can you introduce me to that little kid? He seems nice."

"Tommy?" The corner of her lips quirked up.

"Yeah, yeah. The one who keeps bugging you."

"Sit with us, then." Her acting could surpass that of an Academy Award winner. The way she smiled at him, the way she walked, the way she leaned comfortably to his direction; all lies, all deception, yet so painstakingly convincing that for a moment-- just a moment even she felt like they were in love again for a second, just a brief second. _Oh how easy it is to make the bastard swoon._

She watched him ravish that mere second and felt a small but genuine smile began to fill her whole being, feeling satisfied that she could finally see him as a happy man again-- she hated being with him, hated having to see him, but as complicated as it was she had to admit, it would give her great pleasure if she could see him happy one day. So they went on with the masquerade, even if they both knew it would only last for a mere second.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **I know most of you are looking forward to what happens next instead of loads and loads of flashbacks, but trust me, I'm trying to get my point across and every flashback means something!**

 **Stay tuned! I love every review that you guys post. Thanks for sticking with me.**


	29. Clint Barton

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Here it goes, guys. The hardest chapter I have ever written. Sorry for the delay. I literally spent days writing this chapter. Well, enjoy.**

 _July 12th, 2016, later on._

 _Get in, plant the bombs, detonate, get out._ She repeated in her head, musing in her silence.

"Cap, looks like we're closing in on the drop zone." Tony Stark informed them through their comms. He was flying in his Iron Man suit right next to the jet, visible through the windows. The Vision flew on the other side of the quinjet in silence. The Falcon and War Machine were also on their tail.

 _Get in, let Tony and Vis distract the aliens, plant the bombs, detonate, get out._

Natasha gave Steve a light squeeze on his hand before he left her side and walked up to the front cabin to get a clearer view of the area. "Tony, conduct a full thermal scan." Steve looked back for a moment and smiled at the redhead.

"Already did. Place's swarmed by those giant hybrid-naked mole rat-monsters."

"Any window?"

"Found an unguarded area at the sixth floor."

Steve took a deep breath and looked back to the rest of the Avengers who stared up at him, waiting for orders. "Sam, Rhodes, you copy?"

 _Get in, let Tony and Vis distract the aliens, plant the bombs, get out._

"Yep, I copy." Sam responded through the comms.

"Here cap." Rhodes answered as well.

"Alright. Tony, found the civilians?"

"Yep. They're all huddled up at the first floor."

 _Get in, let Tony and Vis distract the aliens, kill whatever gets on our way, detonate, get out._

"Wanda," Steve pointed at the Scarlet Witch. "Blow up an entry point at the first floor. You, Sam and Rhodes are stationed there. Get the civilians safe. We've got this place cordoned by SHIELD agents, take the civilians to them."

Wanda took a deep breath and nodded.

"Vision, Tony, find the portal and open fire. Keep them occupied."

 _Get in, let Tony and Vis distract the aliens, kill whatever gets on our way, plant the bombs, detonate, get out._

"The portal's on the seventh floor." Tony said cooly. "Come on, Vis, let's blow shit up." He put more power to his thrusters and flew faster, headed for the building.

"Clint and Nat, we enter through the sixth floor." He took a deep breath and glanced at her for just a little too long. "Ready?"

 _Get in._

"Ready."

The SHIELD agent who piloted the quinjet approached their said dropzone and opened the back ramp. Natasha somersaulted onto the balcony on the sixth floor, followed by Steve and Clint. They put on their game faces and proceeded into the building.

Natasha didn't say much, but she didn't like this. She didn't like the look Steve had on his face, how he looked so worried the whole time. When she looked over to Clint the older man smiled at her and quipped about her being a scaredy cat for not moving. She rolled her eyes at him and smiled, but deep down she was trembling.

They exited the office room and found themselves entering an empty hall, the silence was eerie and the room echoed very, very faint sounds that generated from the end of the hall. It sounded like someone was toying with a room switch, except they knew that whatever noise that was, it wasn't human. _Clack, clack, clack._

 _What the fuck is that?_

Steve led the way, had his shield tightly gripped on his front, and the three Avengers slowly made their way to the closed door at the end of the hall.

Steve reached for the door knob and twisted it.

Then they heard a screech.

It was a creature, unlike anything she's ever seen. One was crouched at the far end of the room, over a gutted dead body. It screeched at them loudly and Clint acted quickly by shooting his arrow to its head, then shot another one on the ceiling, and another, and another.

Four dead aliens now lied in the room.

 _Kill whatever gets in our way_. _Right. Done._

She thought the Chitauri was weird; oh boy, _these_ ones were utterly disgusting. She approached one, the one that was taking apart a dead body and observed it carefully. Its skin was charcoal colored, slick and gleaming like a swamp toad. It had roughly the size of an average human being but its extra pair of arms and its paw-like claws clearly separated it from being humanoid. It had fangs and a pair of black, round eyes. It was overall hairless and its face was creaseless and its nose merely consisted of two tiny holes in the middle of its face. Almost like a cat without a muzzle and pointy ears.

"What the fuck." Clint said as he was observing the other dead alien.

"There's more on our way. We just gotta make it to the next floor, guys. Come on." Said Steve, not able to mask his worried voice. Natasha turned to look at him and when their eyes met she gave him a concerned frown. He shook his head and walked up to her, though not uncouthed enough to touch her at a time like this.

"Nat, show us the floormap will ya?" Clint asked, walking up to them casually.

She pressed a button on her left widowbite and a hologram screen turned on. It was a Stark feature that he added to her special armband. Steve interacted with it and zoomed out. "Out this hall and take the first left."

"Emergency stairs." Clint nodded. "Alright, let's head there."

"Keep it low, guys." She reminded the two boys when Clint moved to open the door. She put her widowbite on electro-bullet mode that will electrocoute her victims in a deadly voltage but prevent her from causing too much noise.

The next opened door revealed a hall filled with more of those creatures. She and Clint deftly moved and shot the bastards down as quickly as they could. She shot at the ones on the left, he shot the ones on the right. They proceeded forward as they kept shooting, Steve following closely behind them and watched their backs, giving final blows to the dying aliens lying on the ground.

"First left." She reminded them and took the turn at the hall. They killed several more of the creatures before they entered the door with a sign that says "EMERGENCY EXIT." They quickly made a run for it.

"Tasha, how you holdin up?" Clint asked with an outtake of breath once they closed the door behind them.

"Fine. Why? you wet your pants?"

Clint chuckled, his eyes followed as Steve ascended the stairs. "This way." Steve gestured, all business. The archer and the spy began climbing the stairs while their comms gave them updates from Wanda. They're doing fine, and Tony joined in the convo, updating that he and Vision had everything under control.

Steve signaled them to a halt once he was at the top of the stairs. He gave Clint a gesture to pull out the explosives. The archer did what was asked and Natasha took some of the explosives in her hands, too. They waited for a nod from Steve, and after the captain's signal they proceeded onto the next floor, where there lied a wide, open hall with a glowing, gigantic rounded portal with more and more of the horrendous creatures coming out of it. The portal's center was a spiraling ray of bright purple light that emitted a constant chilling, buzzing noise.

The three Avengers ran for cover behind a set of office desks lined up close to another, the portal a 10 second sprint from where they were. Every new alien that just came out of the portal were immediately kept busy by Tony and Vision's constant firing through a blown open wall.

 _Let Tony and Vision distract the aliens._

"They don't know we're here." Clint remarked as he peeked at the portal's direction.

Natasha raised a brow at Steve, waiting for his call.

"There's so many of them." The archer went on.

Steve's jaw tightened. He pressed on his earpiece and said, "Stark, Vision. You hear me?"

"Hear ya cap. I see you three have made it safe to my floor."

"Can you up your shooting for a bit? Distract them even more."

Tony scoffed demeaningly. "Lucky I came prepared. Let's go, Vis."

Tony's blaster shots got louder and louder and The Vision's yellow ray became more swift and relentless. It was time to move on.

"Nat." Clint cooed and Natasha glanced at him. The archer was smiling. "Dinner at my place after."

She rolled her eyes flippantly and followed him out of his cover. "Make sure you'll have turkey sandwich."

"Heads up, eyes front." Steve warned sternly with his Captain America voice.

 _Plant the bombs._

Steve ran past them, his own explosives at hand. He quickly made his way close to the portal, where he proceeded to plant several explosives on its side unnoticed. Natasha danced her way around him and made her way to the back of the portal, out of any alien's sight. Clint shot one wandering creature that made its way to the back before he finally planted the explosives by the other side of the portal.

"We're clear." Clint informed.

"Great." Said Rhodey over the comms. "We're with SHIELD. Get to your extraction point, guys."

"On it."

 _Detonate._

The three Avengers made their way to run back downstairs. Clint pulled out the detonator and activated it. One minute. One fucking minute. Should be enough for them to run back to their rendezvous point, should be enough for everything.

That's when everything went to hell.

A loud, nerve-racking roar ripped through their eardrums. The three Avengers stopped running for a moment and turned back to see that a humongous, bald, slimy, disgusting creature with wings has made it out of the portal. It was in fact so big that it had to squeeze its way out of there. Tony's blaster shots got its attention right away, and the creature screeched loudly at Iron Man and Vision.

Then the creature leapt at Tony.

 _What the hell is that._

"What the fuck--" Was Tony's last words before his comm piece switched off.

Steve, Natasha, and Clint watched as the creature flew and leapt onto Tony and Vision, screeching and biting at them while Tony and Vis panickedly shot at it in the air.

No longer distracted, one of the smaller creatures took a sight of _them_ and roared to inform the others. Soon, more than fifty pairs of alien eyes were staring at them, as the unguarded portal kept generating more and more of those aliens.

The aliens leapt and hurtled towards them.

 _GET. OUT._

The detonator kept beeping. 50 seconds left.

"RUN, RUN!" Clint exclaimed, pulling Natasha and Steve to make a run for downstairs.

Just as they turned around, though, they were faced with five of the ugly creatures, blocking their path and screeching menacingly.

Natasha pulled out her pistol and began shooting. Clint shot them with his arrows, Steve bashed them with his shield. More and more of the aliens surrounded them.

 _40 seconds left._

"That open hole in the wall! We make a run for it, and we jump down." Steve instructed.

Natasha threw down one of her smaller explosives to clear their way and buy them time. "This way!"

 _32 seconds._

"Cap, how are y'all holding up?" They could hear Sam Wilson shout through the comms, panicking.

Clint stabbed three different aliens with his arrow as he followed along. "Not good. We need a hand here."

 _24 seconds._

"We're trying to help Tony over here!" Rhodes said. "This creature's strong--we--shit--I--" His comm signal broke up before it finally died.

 _23_ _seconds_.

They inched their way to the gaping open hole at the wall, as the crowd of aliens grew thicker and thicker ahead of them; a strong army of hungry beasts who bared their teeth, ready to maul them.

Clint shot three of his explosive arrows that killed about a dozen of the creatures, but it did little as more and more kept stepping out of the portal.

 _20_ _seconds_.

Clint turned and looked at Steve. "We don't have much time."

 _19._

Steve bashed his shield to keep the aliens from approaching. "Damn right we don't."

 _18._ _We're fucked._

"We'll never make it like this. I'll hold them off. Take her."

 _17_.

Steve barely had the time to look at the archer, but he knew Clint was being serious. "What are you talking about?"

 _16._

"TAKE HER."

 _15._

One second. It was all it took for Natasha to take in what her best friend had just said. "No! Let me do it, Clint!"

 _14._

Steve pulled her to his arms. "Go, Clint." The captain said, tightening his grip against the reluctant Natasha.

 _13._

Clint backtracked, shooting his last supply of explosive arrows along the way to make sure the aliens couldn't catch up with them.

 _12._

"The FUCK, Steve!!!" She growled, fighting against his strength.

 _11._

"Let me go. No, no, no. LET ME GO."

Clint had one arrow left.

 _10._

"Hey, right here you bastards!" Clint announced, loud and clear.

 _9._

Natasha fought from Steve's grip and kept shooting at the aliens that surrounded the archer. She knew what Clint was doing. _No, no no. Fuck no._

 _8._

"Clint, NO!" She slipped through Steve's hold, headed for her best friend.

 _7._

"Let him!" Steve reprimanded. He stopped her by scooping her back into his arms, carrying her as they made a dash for the open wall. She fought for release. "Let me go. Let me _the_ _fuck_ GO!!!"

 _6._

Clint shot his last arrow. It was an explosive one, and it stopped a group of aliens from reaching Steve and Natasha.

 _5._

She almost lost sight of him in the crowd, surrounded by those creatures. But he looked at her, right into her eyes, enough for him to smile at her as the creatures pulled him and buried their teeth to every inch of skin that they could grasp.

 _4._

"STEVE, WE CAN'T LEAVE HIM!" Her screams were frantic now, her limbs actively punching and kicking him with all her might. "Please, my god. My fucking god don't make me leave him!"

 _3._

Steve gave no answer to that. He bashed his shield at an upcoming assailant, and another and another as he kept on pushing through the crowd.

"CLINT!"

 _2._

"HE'S DYING! FUCK YOU! FUCK--"

 _1._

They made it. They made it right to the edge of the open wall, and he made the leap, a sharp freefall to the open air.

 _BOOM_.

The bright light was blinding. Her eardrums were bombarded an overwhelming volume of noise that rendered her deaf; she could see the vigor, red flower of exploding clouds shattering in the air. The heat of the explosion clung to her face, boiling her tears and the loud noise that filled her surroundings muffled her screams.

Sam Wilson flew by and swept her to his arms, while she watched Steve Rogers land on his shield on the ground.

Sam didn't say anything. He took her back to the ground, with the collapsing building right by their side. He didn't even look at her after.

He was saying something while touching his comm piece. She couldn't hear him, though. She couldn't hear anything. She could only see ashes and remnants of concrete walls and explosion residue cascade down the air, filling her suffocated lungs. Her hands were shaking, her knees fell limp to the cold ground. She could only hear her loud, pounding heartbeats shaking her ribcage and painfully fighting for its way out. Her heart was marching like a wardrum; beating every second to a loud, obnoxious rhythm that made her stomach churn agitatedly.

She wanted to throw up. Her head was spinning and all of the sudden the whole world was buzzing in a high pitched scream that complemented the drum that was her heart.

She raised her diluted gaze and she was seeing everything around her duplicate and all the colors blended together like a Pollock piece.

 _Get yourself together, Natasha. Get the fuck up._

Her lips were mumbling words that even she herself could not hear. She could only feel the vibration in her throat and a very faint muffled sound, like she was drowning in a dark, cold ocean and her voice sank down with her.

 _What just happened? What the fuck just happened?_

She could see a red figure land on the ground. Tony. He was screaming something at Rhodes. They were arguing over...something. Then Tony flew up and away.

Buzz and buzz and buzz and pound and pound and pound. That's all she could hear.

Tony landed again. He started pointing at Steve, yelling and pushing him. Steve said something back, shouting words she could not hear. _What is going on?_

She closed her eyes and saw a face. That bronze hair, that snarky smile and pale blue eyes. _Clint._

 _"What's the long face, kiddo? Let's go bowling."_

 _He used to do that a lot, frown at her whenever he found her gazing emptily onto nothing._

 _"Is it Rogers? Tell me it's not Rogers. I'll shoot an arrow through his knee if he messed up." He'd say._

 _He'd smile at her with that annoyingly charming act after every mission. "Say, get me a pint," and he'd put up a half-assed charade to convince her that she'd be paying the tab but whenever she pulled out her wallet he'd brush her off and say, "nah, I'm paying."_

 _She hated that. She hated how he felt obliged to take care of her sometimes._

 _"Nat. Dinner at my place after."_

 _"We'll never make it like this. I'll hold them off. Take her."_

 _"TAKE HER."_

 _Clint. Clint fucking Barton. A fucking fool._

 _Fuck._

"Clint." She murmured, weak and fazed. "We--uh-- we need to get Clint." Finally she was able to hear herself.

Her sight began clearing out and she could see Steve, his uniform covered in goo and dirt and he frowned at her, taking a step closer. Boy did Steve look like he'd just had a building dropped on him.

"Natasha." She could hear an echo of her name and a touch on her shoulder. She turned and found the color red swaying gracefully at her side. Red. Wanda.

Wanda was standing next to her, all battered and bruised. She was looking at her with the same look. _That damned look._

 _No._

"Clint's up there--" She groaned through gritted teeth. Her vision was still blurry, her hearing was growing clearer but her ears hurt like someone had stuck a stake through her ears. She used what's left of her strength, with her wobbly legs, to stand up straight.

 _Clint's up there. We left him there._

An image of one of the creatures tearing the flesh on his shoulder struck her mind. Then his hands. Then his neck, and back and he was swallowed into the crowd.

 _Blood._

 _NO._

The pain in her chest was equal to a hard stab through her heart. It hurts so much. So _fucking_ much that she might as well be killed by it.

 _Clint is up there._ _He's alive. He's alive._

"Natasha." Another one of the people around her called her name. Next thing she knew she was surrounded by the color red white and blue, and she could see the embroidered white star on his chest and his warm hands as he pulled her close. He smelled like a mixture of familiar sweat and gunpowder. Right. Steve. Steve Rogers. She leaned into his touch, sinking her face to his chest.

"Save him." She weakly let out. "Save him, Steve."

His embrace wrapped her in tighter. He didn't say anything back. She barely had the strength to stand up anymore. She wanted to bury herself inside the earth's core and melt away with the lava. A terrible feeling churned in her gut and her head sent her on another dizzying trip of scattered vision and distorted hearing. She kept seeing the explosion playing over and over again in her head.

 _No. No, no, no._

Her lips were trembling. When he still gave her no answer she harshly shoved him away and looked at him with drenched eyes, demanding. "Save him, damnit!"

He tried reaching for her hand, guilt did not escape his eyes. "Natasha, listen--"

 _Clint. NO._

She yanked him off, her own hands and nails digging through her scalp, and her sobs made her fall to her knees. She didn't care that everyone was there to listen to her wail and cry. She didn't have the strength to.

Clint Barton is dead.


	30. A Reunion

After the Miracles left, Sam and Nick sat down next to each other in silence until Nick told them that it was safe to come out. They picked up their thrown rifles that were scattered in the meadow. Sam paused for a moment when they found Bucky's.

All this time, he'd thought he hated Barnes. He filled himself with convictions that the only reason he put up with the Winter Soldier was because they had one common goal.

But now Barnes was captured, and he couldn't help but feel this slight disgruntle in his senses. He wanted to go after him, save him.

And then they saw an explosion. No, not just _saw;_ they felt the rush of wind that came along with it, as well as the light shake on the ground.

Witnessing it felt so random-- yet made sense at the same time, given all the random things that have happened so far today. Sam and Nick stopped pacing along the beach and froze, they gazed upon the view with parted mouth.

The explosion in the distance was so loud that they could hear it faintly. The size of it even from this distance made them shudder with fear, though. It took place on an island across from them and it made them wonder.

Sam instantly gasped. "Steve and Nat?"

Nick Fury tapped Sam on the chest and looked at him. He nodded. "Better check it out."

All of the armored soldiers seemed to have already cleared the island by now, leaving Sam and Nick all alone, strolling towards the boat that the deformed kids left for them. They were both tired and beat but this was no time to rest. They set off to where the explosion originated from the second they got on the boat.

It didn't take them long to get there, and seeing all the boats and jetskis lined up along the beach made Sam cock his rifle and puffed a subdued breath. So many boats-- meaning there will be a lot of soldiers. The island was silent though, too silent for their liking. They could only hear the sounds of waves as it brushed along the sandy beach.

 _Question is, where are the soldiers?_ Sam pondered.

"Ready, Falcon?" Nick Fury raised a brow as he decked the boat on the beach. Sam nodded and jumped down.

"Sam. Your 11 o'clock. " Nick exclaimed, pointing at a set of dead bodies lying scattered along the beach. The two of them ran towards the bodies to observe.

"The soldiers." Sam frowned and bent down to analyze them. "Slit throats. Clean cuts. All of them. Whoever killed them's good with knives."

Nick Fury reluctantly held himself from smiling. He didn't want to get his hopes up just yet. Could it be who he thought it was? _Could it be Natasha's work?_

"Natasha's good with knives."

Sam's eyes widened. "The kid. He mentioned about giving Natasha a knife before they threw her overboard."

Nick managed to maintain his calm composure. "Well, keep your eyes peeled. Let's take a look around, shall we?"

Sam and Nick began exploring the jungle, watched in awe when they looked up and noticed how thick the leaves up above were, beautifully letting only few rays of sunlight permeate through the tiny gaps. The trees were tall and majestic-- and boy, did they keep finding more dead bodies along the way.

"Killing this many armed soldiers with a knife-- that takes a hell of a skill." Sam whistled, impressed. "Like, _Natasha_ kind of skill."

Nick allowed himself a chuckle. "If it is her, Wilson, then I'm a motherfucking proud father."

They kept on walking and walking through the quiet jungle, stopping only a few times-- one of the times was when they found a dead jaguar with several bullet wounds along his body. They inspected it while they swallowed a nervous breath, knowing that there were in fact predators on the island. They kept on walking, though, passed so many dead soldiers that the jungle felt like a mass graveyard. The constant silence, though serene, made them even more cautious.

 _Is there no one left alive in this goddamned island?_

They kept on walking, deeper and deeper into the jungle until there was barely light coming through the trees.

And then, gunshots.

Gunshots in the air, echoing through the trees and sending the birds flying onto a panicked spree.

They immediately ran towards the noise, sprinting with all the energy left in their legs and lungs.

Soldiers. Soldiers running along the woods, looked like they're chasing something. They seemed too distracted that they didn't notice when Sam approached them. He threw several threatening gunshots in the air to get their attention. Sam pointed his rifle at them, Nick Fury right by his side. "Stop or I'll shoot!" Shouted Sam.

They immediately stopped running and pointed their weapons at Sam Wilson. "Who the fuck are you?" One of them asked. There were five of them, all stood frozen and pointed the gun at Sam and Nick though they kept occassionally stealing glances at the direction they were running to.

 _This soldier sounded human. Right. So he couldn't be one of the experimented kids. He's a merc, and all these other soldiers must be mercs as well_. Sam sighed, feeling that talking to them would be a complete waste of time.

"Who were you after?" Sam challenged.

"None of your fucking business." Another one barked back. "You're outnumbered, scum."

"Then why haven't you shot us yet?" Nick Fury quipped, almost mockingly.

Just as one of the soldiers was about to pull the trigger, a swift, metal object flung in the air and knocked his rifle out of his grip. This made the other soldiers panic. Two of them shot at Nick and Sam, one was left unarmed and scared, the other two shot at something between the trees.

Nick and Sam ran for cover behind the trees. They heard loud thumping sounds and not long after the gunfire noises subsided.

It was silent again.

The two exchanged glances and stood still in the silence until they heard someone say:

"Sam, Nick? Is that you I was hearing?"

Steve's voice. Sam's eyes widened. _Is that really him?_

Silence again.

"It's Steve! Steve Rogers. Are you out there?"

Sam's eyes widened and he stepped out of his cover, finding Steve Rogers standing among the knocked out soldiers, his face and uniform tattered with dirt and gun residue. His hair was unkempt and a little longer than Sam remembered, and he looked as shocked as Sam was when he saw the two.

Steve's mouth was parted and his breathing was heavy with exhaustion. He looked like he was a second away from falling to his knees when Sam came over to him and pulled him into a hug.

 _It's Steve. It's really him._

"Fuck. How long's it been? Haven't seen you in like a month!"

Steve held him tighter. "God. I've missed you, buddy."

"Never thought I'd see you again, man."

"You and me both." Steve gave him a pat on the shoulder when Sam pulled away. "How the hell did you guys manage to find us?" Steve then glanced at Nick. "Nick." He nodded respectfully.

"Cap'n."

"Yo, Steve. You alright?" Sam patted him on the shoulder, realizing something's off when he saw how Steve kept fidgeting and his eyes reflected fear.

"It's uh--" Steve's voice trembled. He switched glances between Sam and Nick. "Natasha."

Nick took a step forward, frowning with concern. "What about her? Is she alive? Where is she?"

Steve's eyes were bewildered, anxious. "She's unconscious." He began, and he could hear Sam and Nick took a deep, panicked breath. "A grenade, just took her off her feet and I--" Steve then looked at Nick. "Come. I'll take you to her."


	31. Do You Remember?

She felt warm all over.

It was as if someone had dipped her inside a pool of hot steam, tickling the surface of her skin and the heat cruising along her body like a tender massage; it felt nice and relaxing, though the view behold her showed a vivid vision of a dreadful atmosphere. _The view_ in front of her was in fact so horrid that it betrayed all the comfort that the warmth gave her.

She kept seeing an explosion-- massive and loud, contorted and bright. It replayed over and over, forcing her to repeatedly see the horrific sight of Clint Barton, drowning in it, surrounded by disgusting looking aliens that were tearing him apart.

She screamed and reached up, but she was falling down, defeated by the force of gravity.

She felt pain after that—pain and nothing but pain. Worse than any kind of torture that she could imagine. Clint can't die. He shouldn't. He couldn't. He doesn't have to.

And then a voice. A low baritone that flowed smoothly like velvet, sweet and soothing, but most of all it was familiar. She couldn't make out what he was saying, though. The voice felt too far away, and it gradually grew louder, as if someone was turning a volume dial slowly and steadily.

The voice emerged amidst the vigorous cloud of red fire; She felt a chaste kiss land on the side of her neck and a slow blow of breath tickled against her cheek. _"What is it that you're working on, huh?"_ She saw a streak of blonde hair through the corner of her eye. The bed squeaked as he climbed on it and sat behind her, brushing her hair away and planting kisses along the side of her neck.

Steve.

 _"I love you,"_ his voice echoed in her hearing, the resonancy was haunting, dreading; it was as if he was daunting her to say it back. She then found herself lying on the bed of his apartment, with him kissing the back of her neck while uttering those three heavy words, over and over and over again.

Next thing she she knew her surrounding smelled mouldy and the air was damp and dirty; the lighting was dim and the only light came from a window across the cracky black pleather couch. _Hell's Kitchen,_ she mused. She found herself sitting on _his_ lap, naked and sweaty and drunk, and he was looking at her with big, hopeful eyes:

"Stay." He said, placing his hands over her damp, naked back.

And then she was pulled away, down an endless, dark tunnel until she felt herself surrounded by the smell of sunshine and fresh wheat. Clint Barton was there, smiling at her and talking about how wild foxes were _terrorizing_ his crops.

 _But Clint's dead. This isn't real._

She was taken back to the alien-infested building, Clint was running towards the hoard of aliens while Steve held her in place, pulling her to his arms. _"Go, Clint."_ He said, flat and emotionless.

Steve took her away from him.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers.

She felt a hurricane of rage, boiling anger and regret, making her want to scream out and burst into infinite pieces. She saw Clint's face and was reminded of all the times he's been nothing but kind to her; the silly conversations they shared, the moments he was worried sick for her, the moment when he sternly protested about her growing affection towards Banner. She remembered everything like it just happened yesterday; she remembered the smell of his farmhouse and the fresh-brewed coffee in the kitchen and the crease on his forehead. _"You're sharing a room with Banner?"_ He started and she flippantly nodded. It took her a moment before she figured out that he looked rather betrayed by the fact that she hadn't told him anything about it. " _Why Banner? Since when?"_ Oh how he was full of questions.

" _I don't want you to get hurt, Nat."_ He said, and at that time she rolled her eyes dismissively.

" _He's going to hurt you. Listen to me!"_

And so they bickered with small voices, afraid that any of the other Avengers was within earshot. He backed away and gave up in the end, though. He decided that she should have her say when it comes to her own feelings.

She remembered coming to his house after Banner left. He scooped her into his arms and told her that everything's going to be alright. She didn't have to say anything: when she stood there dragging her suitcase to his front porch he only needed to look at her for a mere second before he understood. She waited for an 'I told you so,' but he never said any of that. His arms wrapped around her in silence and perfect comfort.

Then Steve Rogers came along. The handsome, clean-cut, boyscout who blushed whenever he saw her. Who was she kidding. She didn't deserve him. He was a clean sheet and she would only taint him; corrupt him. She tried to push him away right when she noticed the special attention he absentmindedly began to give her; she realized it right when they sat by a hearth covered in blankets while sipping hot cocoa back at 2013;

So it felt only right for her to try and set him up with different people.

To make herself more unreachable she tried falling for Banner, too. They were a better match, she convinced herself. Two monsters in a pod.

Neither of those plans worked.

He ended up alone, she ended up broken.

Thing about Steve is, it felt good to be with him, to talk to him, or to just have him by her side while she brood on the facility roof. She knew he was in love with her already the next time she looked into his eyes while they were laying down on that roof; she could've kissed him right there but she wasn't sure if she should chase after those stupid feelings.

But she ended up falling for him too-- inevitable and with great magnitude-- though it took sometime longer. She decided that she's fallen for him during one stormy night in Frankfurt right after a building fell on them. Covered in muck and dirt they kissed in the hotel room, undressed each other and tended for each other's wounds while he kept planting kisses all over her body when she tried to stitch him up. She laughed whenever he winced in pain and told him to take a deep breath and be patient. He smiled and attacked her lips with a breathy kiss—that's it. She was sucked into a hole so deep that there was no turning back.

 _"Just try to come outta there in one piece, will ya?"_ Steve said, tender and discerned. It was July 12th and Clint was about to die.

One blink and they were back in his apartment's bed; she was wearing her favorite blouse and hugging his naked back while she tried to convince him to subside his anger. _"You never know what's gonna happen, though."_ He murmured. " _I don't want you to get hurt."_

 _Get hurt._ The two words kept playing over and over, louder and more distorted each time.

Love. Pain. Anger. Rage. Confusion. Frustration. Everything blended into one.

" _Tasha."_ She saw Clint next to her, sipping a beer on the hood of his car and crooking up a crescent smile.

 _"I'm getting married tomorrow and I... I don't know. Laura's a special girl, ya know? And I'm just a runt. I mean, with all the crazy things we do for a living—what if, what if we die? Hell, I never cared about dying before but now that I've got Laura, I'm just so scared."_ Clint was so alive.

She was pulled by a strong force that took her to a chaotic place, shrieks and roars of the slimy disgusting creatures incredibly overwhelming and nauseating.

 _"TAKE HER."_ His voice echoed in her head, loud and frantic. She could see his face, panicked and scared.

 _"Tasha."_ She could hear Clint say, this time his smile was gone, his face pale and stoic like a mask.

 _"I've stil got my carnie spirit."_ The mask stayed still but she could hear his voice, distant and grim.

Her memories took her to another place, to the farmhouse. Laura was crying, wailing and sobbing so hard that it hurts to hear. Little Nathaniel was staring at Natasha with confusion from his crib while Natasha held a sobbing Lila in her arms and Cooper was thrashing chopped wood with anger out on the yard. She could hear the loud sounds of wood breaking; loud clanks and thumps and slams as the wood shatters to the ground. His screams were gut-wrenching and high pitched, excruciatingly painful to hear.

She slowly let go of Lila and made her way to the porch, walked up to the crying, screaming Cooper and took his wrist to stop him from throwing another log.

 _"Stop that."_ She told him, her lips trembling as she fought the urge to cry. She was never good at pep talks or whatever shit grown-ups are supposed to say to mourning children, but she had no choice; _"Throwing logs won't bring him back. Nothing will._ _Chin up, Coop. Your family needs you._ "

Her head was seconds away from total combustion. If Cooper hadn't nodded, wiped his tears and dropped the fucking piece of wood, she swore she would have vomited.

Instead the boy looked at her, his whole face red and drenched in tears. _"Why didn't you save him, Auntie Nat? Why did you let him die?"_

The words cut through her like a knife. She had no answer. She wanted to break down in tears with him, but she had to hold it. She had to be strong. Someone _had to_ in this damned house.

She could've saved Clint. She really could-- but Steve pulled her away from him. She wanted to take Clint's place, let him and Steve get away instead. They both deserve a life more than she does.

 _I fucking hate you, Steve._

It was the the first thought that passed her head right when her eyes snapped open and her lungs took in the warm air; the smell of the jungle and seawater thick in her senses.

She now remembers everything.


	32. Blood

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** **Again, a huge sorry for the delay. I recently realized that the upcoming chapters that I have to write are heavy, hard chapters that have to be well thought out. I spent a lot of days doubting whether or not I should take this road in the story-- i even wrote several versions of this chapter! But I decided to take the risk and go for it anyways. Oh well, enjoy.**

When she woke up, she found herself alone by the familiar waterfall. Her whole body felt sore and her head was throbbing that she had to let out an unrelenting groan when she struggled to sit up. Across from her was the destroyed hut. That damned thing. She and _Steve_ built that.

 _Bastard_. She cringed. Looking at that fucking wooden structure made her remember all the things that she'd been doing with Steve these past two weeks.

She feels sick now.

All those nights of sleeping with him, holding his hand, resting her head on his shoulder, laughing and thinking he was a friendly companion of some sort;

"Fuck." She let out a growl, slamming her fist to the ground. She didn't care how much pain was caused by it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She yelled as she kept punching the sandy earth. The tiny specks of dirt formed a thin mist around her, making her cough for air.

 _You should've told me everything, Steve_ , she wanted to scream out but he was nowhere to be found. Where is he? he surely has carried her all the way here.

 _You should've told me everything-- but instead you made a fool out of me and made me fall for you._

 _All over again._

A trail of tear escaped her eye. She moved to stand up, biting her lip to help the pain she was feeling all over her body. She remembered the grenade, how it threw her across the ground. She remembered the love profession she'd just said hours ago; the love was still there, no matter how hard she wants to deny it-- but there's this pain that makes her want to end her life right here, right now.

She took her first few steps while twisting her joints and taking deep breaths to recalibrate. No broken bones. Just sore limbs. Good enough.

Clint dying-- felt like it just happened yesterday.

The conversations on the rooftop-- she could still feel the chilly air and the smell of her cigarettes as if the ashes was sticking to her skin, and Steve Rogers was nexy to her, slowly getting used to the smoke and putting up with her shit because he was lonely.

Clint's wedding-- she could smell the rose scented fragrance he was wearing. She could feel the warmth of his hand as she took his hand in hers minutes away before the ceremony began, with Clint looking at her seeking refuge from his nervousness. "Look at me, Tash. Look at me. I look like a joke or what? I can't do this! I can't do this." He held her hand tighter and she convinced him that everything was going to be okay.

Steve and her were stuck in a lodge with a broken heater-- the cold struck bone but Steve held her like a warm blanket that he was. She could've sworn she'd just been to the Himalayas yesterday.

Clint's funeral-- the sound of tears and sob felt like they had just left her ear less than a minute ago.

The feeling of blood leaking from her wrists and her head growing lighter and Steve taking her to the hospital-- she felt as if the pain on her wrists were still there, the open cuts still fresh and the warm, vigor red liquid was still dripping all over the place. She even had to check her own wrists to make sure she was just picturing everything.

It was overwhelming.

Her head hurts; she has too many thoughts, too many voices and memories and emotion that kept impaling her, a thousand tiny needles at a time-- making her want to scream as loud as she could. She wanted to let out her rage, slit an open cut across someone's chest and pull their heart out just so she could see the dread in their face; the desire was so grim that even she was horrified by her own thoughts after.

She even regretted blinking-- for everytime she did she kept seeing Clint, his dead body mangled to bits and his blood splattered across his face.

 _STOP IT._ She fell to her knees, a rush of tears running down her cheeks. It was torture in the worst way possible. The visions won't stop. They just won't.

"Natasha?" A barrage of footsteps hurried towards her. She looked up and saw three familiar figures-- though her eyes were focused on only one. The one with the blue eyes and blonde hair. "You're awake."

 _I hate you so fucking much, Steve._

"Steve." She muttered, and she made sure the way she looked at him-- the tone of her low pitched voice and the way she knelt there on the ground-- sent out a clear message of her state of mind.

Steve stopped. He looked back at her, his lips sealed shut. He knew.

She looked away, to the docile, pretty waterfall and tried to shake away the memory of the second night they spent on the island-- the moment when she joined him in the water, naked and lustful. She scoffed. "You're not that bad of a liar afterall, Rogers."

He took a deep breath, his palms squeezing onto tight-rolled fists. "Nat."

Sam and Nick were there, and she had questions but she couldn't give a damn about any of them being present right now. She was too angry-- too frustrated. "How could you not tell me? _How could you_?"

Steve bit his lip. "How much do you remember?" He asked instead, his tone calm but weighty.

"Enough."

He pursed his lips. "I'm sorry."

A flash of memory showing Steve bringing her a slice of re-heated pizza with a smile on his face appeared on a whim-- but when she blinked-- she was back to seeing Clint dying instead.

 _Stop. Stop showing me this._

"You think a _sorry_ is gonna cut it?"

He took another step closer. She looked at him in disdain.

"What you said," he began. "On the talkie--"

"You should've told me everything when we got on this island!" She yelled, ferocious and hostile. She didn't want to remember anything that has happened eversince they got here. She now stood up, deep breaths and rigid stance.

"I wanted to."

"But you didn't, Steve." Her voice was coarse, calm but cold. "You decided to keep me in the dark-- so you could have me all for yourself."

He frowned in disagreement, persistent in whatever belief he clung to. "It's not like THAT. We needed to survive. We were losing our minds, Nat."

She scoffed. "I've lost mine a long time ago. I lost _my mind_ the moment we left Clint." She blinked again and she was back at the farmhouse with Clint in the kitchen, showing her how he made his infamous turkey sandwich.

 _Clint's dead._

Another tear escaped her eye.

Sam decided to walk up to her, careful and worried. "Nat, Steve told us you just got hit by a grenade, we should check if you're al-"

"DON'T TOUCH ME." She barked as she saw his arms reached up for her.

Her green eyes pointed towards Steve, and Steve's were locked to hers like a vice.

She saw a collage of different memories. Of Steve, of Clint, of her childhood and of the Avengers-- of Bruce the asshole and Coulson the lying prick-- of Nick Fury worrying about her and asking her to not do anything stupid-- and just somehow, everything-- _everything_ felt like they just happened yesterday. All the emotions within her frothed in her head and flowed through her bloodstream-- making her whole body tremble and drown in a tidal wave of emotions.

 _It hurts. It fucking hurts._

She was back in Russia, holding a blade and sticking it into an innocent man's neck.

 _Everything hurts_.

She was in the Red Room, covered in her classmates' blood, her handlers congratulating her for being the sole survivor. _"Now you just have to go through the surgery to complete the ceremony."_ Madame B said, a sinister smile on her face.

" _You killed them. All twenty-four of them._ _Brava, malen'kiy pauk."_

 _Remember all those people you killed? Killing feels good. Remember?_

 _Your ledger will stay red, and will only become redder-- you are designed to kill, nothing else._

 _You're a monster, Natasha. ACT like one._

Now she found herself locked in a detainment facility of SHIELD's, her limbs handcuffed to a chair and Clint Barton sitting across the table from her. _"Stop fighting it, Romanova. You're more than who you think you are. We make our own destinies over here."_

 _Bullshit, Clint._

She couldn't think. She needed to let go.

 _Let go, Natasha._ A voice in her head whispered, tempting and smooth.

She pulled out her blade. It felt like muscle memory-- so easy. So... satisfying.

One second later and she was hurling at _him_ , Steve _fucking_ Rogers-- slashing and whipping swiftly:

Aiming for any bit of his flesh.

 _"Tasha."_ A flash of Clint's smile appeared in her head.

"Nat!" Steve moved deftly to counter her strikes, his eyes widened in utter surprise and betrayal. He dodged a slash aimed to his face. "Natasha-- don't do this."

She remembered Steve, pulling her from reaching Clint. on that building. The bomb was bleeping, time was running out. _He deserves this._

 _He deserves THIS._

"Natasha!" She could hear Nick say, walking up to her with a warning. She launched a hard spinning kick that hit Nick by his cheekbone when he got close enough. Nick was bleeding, Sam moved to his rescue. Seeing Nick hurt made her waver but she quickly regained her focus. _Slash!_ Steve dodged an attack aimed for his neck.

"Nick's hurt--" Steve was distracted for a second. She used this opportunity and made another attack that he managed to miss, though just barely. "Shit!" He winced in pain as her blade grazed across his gut. "Nat, this isn't _you!_ " He exclaimed, now agitated and desperate.

 _Don't care._

"YOU KILLED HIM." She groaned, advancing her attacks so that he had no choice but to step back. He still made no indication of wanting to hurt her back.

"Natasha, stop it."

"You LIED to me!" She growled, slashing the air next to his ear.

"Fight back, Rogers." She growled. _Swoosh._ Her blade grazed him by his cheek. He gucked as he staggered backwards. "Fight BACK!"

"Natasha, you're in shock." His voice was low and tired, almost a sob. "You need to calm down--" She managed to slash him again, it hit his tricep. He groaned in pain. "Let me talk to you, please--"

She let out an exasperated cry, her eyes were set on one target and one target only--

So she stabbed him, with all her strength.

He managed to block it, just in time, and they were locked into a staredown, grasping for air and his lips trembling to hold down a scream.

The blade has now impaled him deep, all the way through his left forearm and the tip of it was imbedded into his left chest, the spot right on top of his heart.

His blood started to drip down the brown clay ground. Fresh and red and abundant.

"Nat, what are you doing?" A teardrop fell from his eye. The way he looked at her, took her back to another time, a time when they were alone in the bedroom next to each other, his blue eyes staring at her with _so_ much love that she felt sick. "What are _we_ doing?" He went on, and his face fell when he saw her shed a tear as a reply.

All of the sudden she was back at their watered-down apartment in Hell's Kitchen, trying to drown herself in litres of vodka-- trying to drown her high-held pride and just go after her desire for one _night._ No shame, no regrets;

She desires _him_.

CLICK. A gun was cocked.

She looked to her right and found Sam Wilson standing not far from them, the barrel of a Smith Wesson 5906 aiming right at her.

 _That pistol._

She found herself with a bruised lip and a bloody temple in an empty warehouse, Clint Barton dressed in his tactical gear, cocking that _very_ gun inches away from her forehead. _"Why did you save him?"_ He asked in flawed Russian, heavy with American accent. Her younger self was confused at that time. _"Who?"_ She asked, clueless.

Clint scrunched up his nose and muttered, " _The boy."_

She squinted to shake away the memory.

"You stole my gun." She remarked, a bitter smile painted the corners of her lips.

Sam gulped. "Took it with me. Was gonna return it when I see you."

"Guess you're not gonna return it now, are you?"

Sam squinted wordlessly.

"You really gonna kill me with my own gun, Sam? really?" She bluffed, buying time to decide whether or not she wanted to die.

A big chunk of her wanted to.

Sam was sweating. His eyes showed fear and fear was one thing Natasha knew best.

"Move away from him." Sam warns, his tone shuddering and afraid.

"Kill me." She dared. She's made up her mind.

Sam's stance straightened as he took a deep breath. Steve shook his head. "Don't listen to her."

"Kill me before I kill him." She kept daring, pressing the blade deeper. Steve screamed and her own heart sunk. Sam took a fearful step closer.

"SAM, DON'T!" Steve shouted in pain. He looked down to his chest, the blade's tip sticking barely an inch deep, seeking his heart. The blade's whole spine has stabbed into his forearm, trapping him in her grip. There was blood everywhere. He looked up at her and found her tearful eyes, filled with desperation and and uncontained anger.

"You're not gonna kill me." Steve took a painful deep breath and said, though his heart was ripping apart and his conviction was as good as a round of Russian Roulette.

She looked back at him. Her eyes widened with a sudden revelation. It was as if she'd just woken up from a terrible nightmare-- only this _nightmare_ was real and everything _bad_ in it was her doing.

 _Blood._

 _No._

 _What the fuck did you just do, Natasha?_

 _What the fuck._

"Natasha," Sam began. "Let him g--"

She let go of the blade, staggering backwards, before she made a leap towards Sam Wilson.

BANG!!! Sam pulled the trigger. It missed.

She circled him and snatched the pistol away. Now that the pistol was in her hand, she stood there, aiming it at Steve with wobbly legs and trembling lips.

She didn't want to shoot him. How could she? She couldn't even get over how betrayed he looked right now.

 _What have you done?_

Steve began pulling out the blade. He was groaning and panting, so painful and loud that she shuddered with regret.

 _You're a monster, Natasha._ She bit her lip as she let the admission sink in. _Your fault. All your fault._

Steve gave her one last look as he dropped the blade to the ground. His forearm was covered in his blood, his flesh exposed and leaking. So was his cheek, and bicep and chest.

 _What have you done, Natasha?_

 _He deserves to die._

 _He doesn't._

 _He does._

 _HE DOESN'T. You do._

Looking into his eyes, a new tear ran down her cheek. "The blood--" she sobbed.

 _NO._

 _What have I done?_

"You should've let me go, Steve. You should've let me die."

He shook his head.

 _Steve's hurt. YOU did that, Natasha. You've hurt him._ She could hear voices in her head, old memories replaying back and forth like a broken turntable-- her mind drifted way back to a time when she was just a scared little girl back in Russia, black and blue after her handlers had beaten her to shreds: _"You're worthless."_ They'd say. " _You're replacable. You have no place in the world._ " She tried closing her eyes to take away that memory, but her mind kept replaying the sight of Clint dying instead. _NO. Don't show me that. DON'T._

"I don't deserve to live." She murmured, her voice a torn up mess. "Why did you let me live?"

She took a deep breath and re-aimed the gun, placing its barrel end under her chin.

"Natasha, NO!" Steve made a dash towards her.

CLICK.

One moment. One moment was all it took.

The barrell was empty. Nothing came out.

He swatted the pistol away from her and held her tight. She tried to fight away his grip but he stopped her with his strength. "Breathe." He shushed until she gave up fighting and finally sunk her face to the crook of his neck.

 _Steve's hurt. I did this._

"Oh god what have I done? " She cried. "What have I done?"

She pushed him away so she could get a better look on him. "You're bleeding. It's my fault, we need to take a look at those wounds--"

"I'm fine, Nat. I'm fine, See?" Steve managed to put up a smile, though his face was pale and his blood had stained her uniform as well as his own.

There was blood _everywhere._

Sam and Nick stood there, wide-eyed and confused.

"I'm--" he weakly let out, "fine."


	33. Persuasion

Bucky woke up to the foul stench of something rotten. The room he woke up in was mostly dark, with rays of sunlight peeking from the gaps of the dusty wooden ceiling above. The dank air tightened around his lungs and the darkness of the rest of the room beyond him made claustrophobia crawl into his skin.

His limbs were bound to a cold, hard, metal board that stood vertically against the wall. Even his forehead was strapped onto it. They gagged his mouth with a clump of cloth and plastered a piece of tape over his lips, restricting his speech to mere grunts and groans.

 _Where am I?_ He thought to himself as he struggled to free himself from the binds. He grunted and fought, slamming and pulling against the constraints. It didn't work. Whoever captured him must've been aware of his strength.

He glanced up, observing an abundance of messily woven spiderwebs hanging all over the ceiling. He almost hated how quiet his surrounding felt. He stayed there, glancing around in silence and trying to shake himself off his constraints for what felt like hours until he finally gave in and just stood there, idle and silent.

Then a cloud of dust cascaded down from the ceiling, followed by more and more clouds.

His ears picked up the sounds of heavy footsteps, and the wooden ceiling creaked and creaked, like an out of tune symphony.

 _Someone's upstairs._

"Good day, old friend. Come! We've been expecting you." A man said with a hoarse voice, he had a thick Afrikaans accent.

 _Who's that?_

A set of other footsteps paced about above him. These ones were definitely heavier-- in fact so heavy that Bucky swore the wooden ceiling bent a little underneath this man's feet. "Your sudden politeness is deplorable." The other man said. His voice was low and rough, but gentle and composed and somewhat formal. He was American. "Tell me, Mr. Klaue, is the courtesy out of true respect or is it _fear_?"

 _Klaue._ Bucky's eyes widened. He clenched his fists.

Klaue replied with a lewd laugh. "Doubt it'll make much difference in your eyes, _Fisk_."

Bucky's gasped. _Fisk._ Bucky has heard about Wilson Fisk's interest in recruiting him. Word spreads like wildfire-- there's a huge bounty for the Winter Soldier's head, and it wouldn't be much of a surprise if it turns out that Klaue is selling him to Fisk.

 _Fuck._ Bucky fought against his restraints again. His wrists and ankles hurt, and still he's made no progress.

The wood above him creaked heavily. "The asset, he's down there?"

"Tied down and secure." Klaue claimed proudly.

"I must admit, you impressed me, Klaue."

Ulysess Klaue crackled onto laughter. "I see. You underestimate me."

"Don't take it personal." The wood creaked, and creaked, and creaked again. Downstairs, Bucky sniffed disgruntedly as more and more dust filled his lungs. "Now take me to him." Fisk demanded, stern and intimidating.

"Not so fast."

Then... it went silent. It was silent for a moment too long that Bucky found himself creasing his forehead with confusion.

 _What's going on up there?_

Creak. Creak. Creak.

"Come on now. No games. Out of my way." Fisk suddenly said demandingly.

"Ah-ah. Not yet." Said Klaue.

"I am a man of little time. I _refuse_ play your games, _Klaue._ "

"There's one thing--"

Fisk growled. "What is the meaning of this?" His voice was raised, agitated. "Out of my way, you one handed freak!"

SLAM! Something was thrown. A huge cloud of dust cascaded across the room downstairs.

 _What's going on?_ Bucky's eyes widened.

Upstairs, Ulysses Klaue was coughing for air and grunting in pain.

 _Oh, so it was him that Fisk had thrown._

"Fisk!" Klaue called, laughing lewdly though there was clear pain in his voice. "Violence! I live for it. I breathe it, dear Kingpin."

 _What's wrong with this dude?_

Wilson Fisk took heavy, angry steps towards him. "You joke around one more time and I promise you I'll crush your _skull._ "

Klaue kept laughing, loud and deranged, and he only stopped when Bucky heard a choking sound. "Wait, wait, wait!!!" Klaue choked out. "I-- have a--proposition-- to make--"

BLAM! Fisk dropped him. "Speak before I run of of patience."

Klaue's breathing was loud, the man was panting for air. "Good for business, I swear. I'll give you an army."

"Your children army are _useless_." Fisk spat. "They couldn't stop The Devil."

"Th-th-the Devil! Exactly. I know something that can stop him. My men have developed a serum-- far better and more effective. One drop-- poof! Makes an efficient killing machine. You help me get it, I'll give you an army of twelve-- free of charge."

Fisk was silent for a moment before he replied, "Where is it?"

"It resides in the body of Natasha Romanoff."

"Romanoff?"

"The redhead, yes."

Silence.

Bucky's forehead creased deeper. That name. She was the red headed lady who he went after at the highway. The lady Avenger. Steve's girl.

Wilson Fisk let out a dismissive groan at last. "You just need my army." Fisk's voice grew rougher, colder. "Because most of your men are killed trying to get Captain America--"

"And Black Widow, but--"

"Listen, you lunatic. Your ore mine is destroyed! You're a man of no wealth, no army, and no companion. Even if we go and get your said serum, you won't be able to cover the expense to manufacture it. It's over, Klaue. Now hand me Barnes at once. Take the little money you earn from it and be grateful."

"Yes, indeed I don't own the budget, but you do!"

"I'm not risking my men nor am I investing any of my hard earned money to be in your crooked mess."

"Said the man who wants to stop The Devil." Klaue teased, his voice flowed low and mockingly. "I heard word from the city-- said The Devil has joined forces with a strong negro, a girl, and a man with a dragon tattoo. How are you supposed to stop him then?"

"Enough, you racist prick."

"You need an army. A better army. You can help me get it."

"Tell me, Klaue, why are you pushing this?"

"My personal inquiry is none of your business."

"Your crushed skull _makes it_ your business."

Klaue began laughing again. "Very well. I'm running a humble operation down at Wakanda, which I'm sure you won't be interested in. In order for my plans to run smoothly I need to secure myself a better army."

"Quite the ambitious man."

"Ah, I prefer the word innovative."

Fisk took a moment to weigh his options before he said, "Romanoff, you said?"

"One and only."

"What did you do to her?"

"Nothing big. Just inject things, here and there. Quite timid, actually. Guarantee she might not even realize she's been carrying a billion dollar worth of serum in her veins."

"A billion?" Fisk let out a derogative laugh. "Listen to yourself."

"Oh, it's not a lie. I guarantee you it's not. Now why would I ever lie to you? We're respectable men here."

"You're despicable."

"Best compliment I heard all day."

Fisk scoffed. "Alright. If what you're saying is true... how strong is she now?"

"No, no, no. She's just a carrier. Might experience slight side effects, probably tinkered her memories a bit, maybe gave her a fever or two and she might lose her temper and whatnot, but she's just the same ol' human."

"Hm. Army of twelve?"

"You have my word."

"Stronger, you said?"

"You can rule the city and transform it into a peaceful paradise-- exactly to your liking, free from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

"Very well. We have a deal, Klaue. Just make sure all this would be worth my while."

Bucky could just tell Klaue was smiling when he said, "Happy doing business with you, Kingpin."


	34. Nick Fury

_November, 2005._

 _"You knew your orders, you take her down. You take her down-- Barton, you hear me? You were supposed to take her down, not bring her HERE." Nick Fury remembered himself sitting behind his wide, sturdy desk at the 20th floor of the Triskellion building, yelling aplopetically at Clint Barton and six other agents who stood before him with their tails between their legs, scared of demotion due to their recent ineptitude._

 _Only Barton held his chin high and stood upright like a champion, smiling smugly for whatever victory he saw today as._

 _"Something funny, Hawkeye?"_

 _The archer looked down and chuckled, "No, sir. Just happy we saved a soul today."_

 _And that soul, turned out to be a highly skilled, highly valuable operative who Nick Fury grew to cherish like a daughter he never had._

 _Clint Barton begged him to give her a chance-- convinced Nick that Romanoff, who was barely 21 at the time and already responsible for more than six dozen kills, deserved a second chance. "She's a walking, breathing, killer machine. What do you expect would happen?" Nick challenged right after he told the other operatives to leave the room aside from Clint. The archer pouted and shrugged. "You picked me up from the streets, Nick. I was a punk, just like she is. Gimme eight months and I'll whip her to shape."_

 _"And if you fail?"_

 _Clint fixed his stance, his jaw clenched tight. "Then I'll gun her myself."_

 _Nick remained skeptical, but six months later Natasha Romanoff showed up to his office, spilled all intel she had about the Red Room and begged her way for a single badge as a SHIELD agent. Nick didn't give her what she wanted until a year later, when he was fully convinced that she had no ulterior motives behind her actions._

 _Barton, however, remained beside her every step of the way: sparred with her during their downtime while everybody avoided her like a plague, defended her when other agents slandered her for her troubled past. He introduced her to his family and Nick even heard word that Clint took her around the city, showed her how to use a bow and arrow, and even taught her how to fix up a car. Soon Nick's fears and suspicion dwindled down and he watched with his own eyes when the young redhead tried so hard to hold down an excited smile when he finally gave her his approval._

As of now, Nick slowly walked over towards Natasha, who was standing at the back of the trawler boat by the gunwale. It's been 12 years since the first time he saw her yet she still looked the same. She looked small, standing like that; vulnerable, fragile. She had her back to him, and she'd been standing there this past hour with her heavily bloodstained uniform. He could still smell the blood as he drew closer.

"How's your jaw?" She turned around and asked him before he was even an arm reach away from her. There was a faint trace of dried blood on her cheek, and her hands were covered in deep red. Steve's blood. Her voice sounded thin and wary, not at all like the person he knew her to be.

Nick forced himself to smile, though the side of his face felt a painful stung from doing so; he'd do anything to cheer her up. By now he was sporting a nasty bruise and he'd lost two mollars; long story short it took quite a while to stop the bleeding. She helped stitch him up, with shaking lips and face pale as snow. She'd done some damage and now she hates herself for it, he's sure.

"Not dislocated." He replied, light and easy. "And save your apology. I don't need none. Also, get yourself cleaned. You smell like a slaughterhouse."

She quickly folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head with distant eyes and shaking lips. "I've hurt you."

"And I sent Barton to kill you. Call it even."

The answer didn't bring the slightest relief to her eyes. "That was a different life, Nick."

"Call it what you want, Natasha. It is what it is."

She ignored him. "Is Steve-- is Steve alive?"

He studied her for a moment-- he understood how she avoided directly taking part in helping take care of Steve's wounds, as she didn't trust herself around Steve after all that's happened. Even Sam seemed to hold grudges at her for it. "One thing at a time, agent." He walked closer and stood by her, staring out to the view of the quiet beach and the trees beyond. "One thing at a time."

"Do we need anything else? More bloodbags? Suture thread? Gauze? We--" Her voice faltered and she took a deep breath when Nick placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

"You've done enough." He said with a soft tone, trying to calm her down.

"I can raid more ships. Maybe--maybe Sam needs more supplies."

"You've stolen medkits from ten different ships this past hour. Now rest up and let Sam do the work, understand? No backtalks."

She looked down to the floor and fell quiet. Nick watched her, untrained for this sort of situation. However much he cared for her, he would never admit it to her face, let alone try and embrace her. A shoulder squeeze is about as far as he would give out.

So his best option was to weigh the odds with her:

"The nearest mainland is a 3 hour drive from here. This is the best chance we've got."

"I know, I know. It's just that I wish there's more."

Nick sighed, retracting his hand back to his side.

"You know, Natasha, people like us--" He noticed how her eyes darted to him, waiting, "we're not built for this kind of _bullshit_."

She scoffed, though her eyes showed bitterness, still. "What kind of bullshit?"

" _Love_ kind of bullshit."

She bit her lip and looked down. "Since when do you get this emotional, Nick?"

"Now if you'd shut up and listen to me for once-- I'm trying to tell you that I'm _proud_ of you." The last word came out of him with an odd twist in his tongue. Even Natasha looked at him like he'd just said something obscene. "Takes a lot of courage to try _that_ kind of bullshit. You and Rogers... what you risked being together, takes courage. Courage I sure as hell have given up taking."

Her lips parted and her forehead formed a deep crease, thinking for a moment before she replied, "But it ended with him dying. By _my_ hands."

"One thing my old ass learned after all these years: you're only dead when you are. Sam's performing miracles down at that very boat cabin and Steve Rogers is gonna come outta there looking as good as new."

Nick felt a slight triumph when he saw the corner of her lip pull to a thin smile. "Is that all for the lecture or have you got more?"

"Oh, there's more." Nick folded his arms across his chest and let out a sigh, trying with all his might to sound coy and not fearful. "Stay alive, will you?"

Her shoulders tensed and her eyes suddenly looked away with a cold gaze. She said nothing, and her silence made Nick grow worrier.

"A decade ago I would have been been more than happy to pull the trigger myself."

"You should've." She quietly muttered.

He shook his head. "I'm glad I didn't. Best choice I ever made."

"Don't try to cheer me up Nick."

"What you did to Rogers-- You fucked up. But that doesn't mean you're alone on that. I fucked up too, once, back when I let HYDRA run inside SHIELD. I should've known Pearce was up to something. I should've known a long time ago."

"It's not your fault. We all never saw it coming."

Nick glanced at her. "Remember when Steve Rogers fucked up a year ago? You lost a brother, I lost an agent. We all gotta fuck up sometime. Don't mean you gotta put a bullet through your head."

"No." She started shaking her head in reluctance. "Don't do this to me, Nick."

"Romanoff. Always so stubborn. Think it over. Might do you some good." He gave her a light pat on the shoulder before he turned away, headed for the wheelhouse. A tiny part of him wanted to walk over to her and give her a hug, but he couldn't bring himself to it. He swallowed his pride and kept on walking.

Natasha hugged herself tighter, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, wishing Steve would be alright.


	35. Sleep

Natasha wanted the door to open so badly.

But then again she doesn't. What if there's no good news when the door opens? What if something went wrong? What if Sam failed to save him?

She kept pacing on and about while daylight began to cease and the sound of waves brushing along the shore grew brazen and crude. The birds have flown home and the wind blew sharply in a freezing force when Nick told her to stop. The former director brought her clean clothes that he'd fished out of one of the boats along the beach and peremptorily told her to get herself clean. She did as he said, without futher ado. Nick asked her what they could do to buy time, so she took him back to the bunker where they fished out boxes of files that they could use as evidence to press charges against Klaue, and took as many firearms as they could carry. After that, sweaty and tired she waited again, staring at the closed door of the cabin, waiting for Sam to step out.

It was twilight when Sam finally stepped out of the room, his whole torso and lower arm covered in dried blood. Natasha abruptly stood up from where she sat across the boat and parted her lips to say something, but Sam cut her short:

"He's asking for you." He muttered curtly, reflecting a heavily dissappointed look back at her.

"So he's okay?" She took frantic steps closer with wide, hopeful eyes. "Tell me he's okay."

"He'd lost a lot of blood-- but he'll manage, Nat." Sam sighed wearily. "Just wished we didn't have to go through all this nonsense."

"Wilson, easy on her." Nick Fury said from the railings of the wheelhouse upstairs. Sam looked up at him, squinting.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't see any of you work your ass off to save his life in that very room!" He then shot a look at Natasha. "The act you pulled-- man I knew you were a handful but I didn't know you're gonna be this batshit--"

"ENOUGH." Nick snapped, ascending the ladder downstairs to stand between them. Natasha just stood there with her mouth shut, accepting her penance.

"He was dying, goddamnit. He really was." The falcon's eyes softened with exhaustion. He pointed at Natasha with a chin bob and murmured, "Now you go inside and make it right. He's still half-awake but he kept on saying your name. Figure he wants to see you."

Nick Fury looked at her with concern. "If anything happens you call for us, understand?"

Natasha nodded and shakingly made her way for the door. Once she'd entered the room, the strong stench of iodine, alcohol and blood entered her senses. A tiny fan placed on a desk at the corner of the cabin was switched on, waving lazily left and right. A small circular window placed on the wall by the bed was opened, most likely an effort to get rid of the smell.

And on that bed, there lied Steve Rogers, wrapped in thick layers of bloody gauze and hooked onto an IV cord. He was sleeping soundly, his breathing quiet and steady.

 _He's alive. He's breathing and alive._

Natasha found herself a chair by the desk and sat there, watching him sleep and waiting for him to wake up. Sam was right; Steve repeatedly called her name. The first time he did it she came over to him and kneeled by the bed, thinking he might be awake, but he wasn't. _"Natasha, Natasha, Natasha."_ He whispered with closed eyes and frowning temple.

She wanted to cry. She did this. She's the one who caused him harm.

She kept on waiting, pacing back and forth around the small space and occassionally sitting down on the wooden chair. As time passed, she found herself growing tired, so tired that she drifted away to slumber.


	36. The Reason Why

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Yo, sorry for the delay. It's just that these future chapters have been such pain to write!!! I wrote 6 different versions of this chapter. Yes, 6. Hope it's worth it tho. Thanks for sticking with me!**

 _It was a still night at the end of March, 2016._

 _The shower poured down constant streams of warm water; It was in fact so warm that the whole bathroom was covered in mists of hot, white steam.The beige tiled bathroom echoed the sounds of water sploshing, followed by content chortles and the faint sounds of lips clashing._

 _In the midst of all that, under the rush of water, Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff kissed like the_ _world was their own, and inside the walls of these apartement rooms they were invincible-- not bound by the constrictions of time and the constant threats from their foes._

 _He'd just returned from a mission and she'd just returned from hers; she had several cuts along her limbs, he had fresh bruises all over his body, including his cheekbone and waist. He groaned when her thumb stroked over his cheek and she giggled with an apology. He kissed her harder._

 _I've missed you." He whispered, and that was the first ever sentence either of them has uttered eversince they left the shower, freezing as they felt the striking cold air of the apartment._

 _He dried her off with the towel in his hands and gave her quiet praises while he kneeled and traced kisses along her smooth, toned thigh. She ruffled with his damp blonde hair and bit her lip with a smile. "How can you not?" she tease_ _d when his lips landed on her pelvic bone._

 _"Mm. Patience." She gave him a flippant warning when his nose nuzzled on the space below her navel, travelling lower. He let out a dissapointed groan._

 _"Let's get those fresh wounds taken care of first."_

 _It wasn't a new thing, tending for each other's wounds. All things considered, by now it already feels like a routine they'd do from time to time. Steve would never dare say this, but he actually preferred her touch rather than those assigned medics. She'd always been more careful and meticulous, not to mention a pretty sight to look at._

 _He sat on the edge of the bed while she dabbed an iodine-dipped cottonball on his back._

 _"Ouch." He winced a little. "Careful."_

 _"It's only a little sting. You can take it."_

 _"Still hurts."_

 _"Be a good boy and I just might give you a little treat."_

 _He laughed. She bit her lip and smiled._

 _He turned his head to meet her eyes and said, "You'll be the death of me, y'know that?"_

 _She leaned in and kissed him, humming when she felt his arms cradle around her back and pulled her to his front, cupping on her breasts when she ended up on his lap. "Since when is Captain America this upfront, huh?"_

 _"Since you." The corner of his lips quirked to a silly smile that made her kiss him even harder._

When Steve woke up, his senses heightened like a hurricane. His eyes snapped open and air traveled in and out of his lungs like that of a whirlwind. He could smell the faint scent of the ocean in his balmy surroundings. The ceiling of the room was white and shallow, with rays of soft, tangerine sunlight coming through a small window by the bed. The smell of freshly-painted varnish that glossed all over the wooden walls of the small room sent a swirl of light headache right to his brain. _Where am I?_ He asked himself, shifting on the hard bed and the even harder pillow. He took a glance to his left and found a saline stand with a third-full bloodbag hanging on it, its deep-red-painted IV cord leading down to his wrist.

And then there she was.

Natasha was sitting on a chair across the tiny room, her head tilted to the side and her posture slouched, her eyes closed and her breathing soft and quiet. She was asleep. The sight of that brought a smile to his face as he replayed the memory he just had in his dream.

His smile didn't last long. A stream of pain struck his nerves and he furrowed as he looked down to the patches of gauze wrapped around his shirtless torso, and a thick layer that was wrapped around his left forearm.

He dropped his head back to the pillow and took in the ever growing pain on top of his heart. Stab wounds. Right.

 _Natasha caused this._

He lied there a little longer, convincing himself that what he was just dreaming of; one warm night in 2016-- however sweet and comfortable, was nothing relevant anymore given their circumstances now.

He'd let Clint die and she hated him because of it, and then she lost her memories-- prompting him to try and make her fall for him again and she was even more furious at him now for it.

And just then she tried to kill him.

 _So much for a love story._ He let out a grunt after his failed attempt to sit up.

He also remembered that she pointed a gun to her own head.

 _"You should've let me go, Steve. You should've let me die."_ The whole scene replayed on top of his head, like a hard blow to his cheek.

Steve chewed over the scenery in silence. He knew staying with her won't be easy, even from the beginning. The sleepless nights when they both were too haunted by their own demons to let themselves rest, the mental breakdowns that drove them both mad. She had more of those compared to him, though, for he knew whatever things she endured in her past were so bad that she still refused to share them with him until now.

He never minded; He didn't mind getting less sleep and having to put up with her tantrums, didn't mind having to convince her over and over again that she was a beautiful person who deserved so much more than she thought she did.

He loves her. God, he does.

 _There has to be a way. There has to be a reason to keep her going._

"Hi." His body tensed when he heard her voice. "Thought for a moment you wouldn't wake up." He turned his head left and found her awake, her hand covering her lip as she tenderly chewed on her knuckles in silence. She looked anxious, uneasy.

"Hi." Steve murmured, barely a coherent syllable due to his weakened state. He studied her for a while, trying to read whatever he could from the sight of her. He could tell she was holding something back-- a rage, a happy squeal, or maybe a tear. He couldn't tell.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, soft and discerned.

"Been better."

"Listen, I'm-- I'm sorry. For everything."

He squinted and scoffed. "I'll get over it."

"No, you don't understand--"

"How can I not? You stabbed me all over." He meant it as a jest, but it wasn't after he'd said it that he realized it was the completely wrong thing to say. She shrunk where she sat, biting her lip and looking away from him. "Sorry." He said right after. "I was trying to make a joke."

"You were never good at jokes." She murmured grimly.

He took a deep breath and then hissed when pain shot up his senses. "Come here." He peered at her, bobbing his chin as a gesture. She looked back at him with a doubtful stare. "You won't hurt me."

"You don't know that."

"If you really think you'd hurt me you won't be in this room, don't you think?"

She wasn't in the mood for banter. Her voice only grew quieter and more afflicted. "I didn't want to. Sam told me you kept saying my name in your sleep, so he told me to stay here."

He felt his cheeks growing hot. "Oh."

She fixed her posture and huffed. "I'm just glad you're alive, Steve."

"Come here, then."

She shook her head again. "I don't trust myself."

"Fine. Then I'm coming to you." He struggled to get up. She began to frown.

"Stop it."

"I can take it."

"Stop that, Steve." She stood up and took a fearful step closer.

He let out a painful grunt when he finally dragged himself to sit up, and by then she was already at his side, pressing her palm against his shoulder to keep him in place with wide, scared eyes.

"Don't you do that again." She said languorously.

"Take a seat and stay with me."

"You're delirious."

"You won't hurt me."

"I almost killed you."

"That wasn't you. So stay. Please."

She shook her head, looking at him fretfully like he was some kind of idiot. But she stayed, though. She sat on the side of the bed, looking down at the floor with regret.

"Did you do all this?" He asked softly, knowing her too well not to know how bad she must've felt about this whole situation.

"Sam did." She mused. She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes filled with so much sorrow and regret. Then she carefully reached out, dug her fingers into his blonde hair, combing it backwards with a weak smile. "Your hair's longer."

"Happens when you're a fugitive, even more so when you're stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere." The corner of his lips pulled to a crescent smile. When her eyes widened as she realized what she had done, he gave her a look before she retracted her arm. "It's okay." He assured her. "You won't hurt me."

Her eyes studied him for a while longer, looking for reassurance and conviction before she decided that it was alright to touch him.

He watched her intently, glancing down at her fingers when they left his hair and swept over the patch of gauze on top of his heart. Her touch was so tender and light that he almost begged for more.

"We gathered med supplies from the empty boats and fixed you up. It was mostly Sam and Nick, though. I was too busy acting unhinged most of the time."

"I doubt that."

"You were unconscious. You didn't know what happened."

"I know you enough."

She bit her lip and smiled. "Maybe."

"Where are we?"

"We took one of the boats. The fastest, according to Nick. They're right outside."

"Is he alright?"

Her eyes darkened. "Got away with a couple stitches, a purple cheekbone and two missing mollars. Says he's alright though." Her voice went quieter, gloomier.

He frowned and reached out with his good arm. "Nat, it's alright--"

She shrugged him away. "Don't."

"Okay." He gave in and decided to change the subject. "Where are we going?"

"Back to the mainland. Brazil." She bit her lip and retracted her hand, her eyes darting away from his onto the view of the blue seas outside the window. "You need to rest. I shouldn't even be here."

He shook his head with disagreement, took a painful deep breath and mumbled, "Hey Nat, I'm sorry I lied to you."

It wasn't easy to read her-- it never was easy to, even when she's staring right at you. Her eyes, though-- those beautiful green eyes of hers, showed pain. Pain was the only thing she let show.

"You know, when you went under for hours and you were bleeding out you made me think." She said, her voice low and somber. She hadn't made any physical attempt to leave yet and for now that was enough for him. "I'd come to realize that... you're not entirely wrong."

"No, I was. I shouldn't have lied to you."

"You needed company. I can only imagine what surviving alone there must've felt like. You did what you had to do."

He kept looking at her as he pictured himself caressing through that crimson curls of hers, wavy and smooth and now tied to a messy bun on the back of her head. He remembered how just hours ago he'd just pull her to a kiss and he knew she longed for it as much as he did. Right now, though, seems like a lot of things have changed to the worse.

He wondered how she felt about him now.

""Natasha." He whispered her name, weak as he was. "Tell me what happened back there."

Her lips parted in a doubtful silence before she began, "I don't know-- what came over me. It was, uh, as if someone tried to jam a whole lifetime of memories into my head all at once. Everything hurts. Dying felt easy."

"Being dead wouldn't solve things, Nat. Think of all the people who care about you. Who _died_ for you."

"I don't wanna talk about that, Steve."

"It's been two years we've never so much as dance around the subject."

"And we should leave it that way." She insisted.

"Clint--"

"I don't want to TALK about him with _you._ " Her voice was raised. He was testing her patience but he couldn't care less.

"Clint thought highly of you."

One moment, and her green eyes turned bloodshot. "You're as much of a fool as he was."

"He died for you, Nat. It has to mean something."

"That's his mistake." She stared right at him, annoyed and stubborn. But then just as quick as that anger rose, it subsided when she took a deep, contemplative breath. She looked at him again, and she shook her head, realizing how unwise it was to start another argument when another subject still lies unanswered, "Why aren't you angry, Steve? Why are you being so _kind_ to me?"

Steve's mouth parted but nothing came out. He took his time thinking of a reason, but he'd come to realize that there _is_ none. "I don't know."

She let out a sigh and looked at him again, searching in his eyes. "You're such a good man."

He let out a sigh with a small smile and reached out with his good arm, placing his right hand to cup her cheek. This time, she let him.

She craned onto his touch but shook her head. "Look what happened to you. What I did to you. I don't know what I should do to make it up to you." Her voice was seconds away from shattering when she said it. Her boldness gave her enough courage to look him in the eyes, though--and it hurts, it hurts to look at those eyes.

"You don't owe me anything."

"I ruined everything, didn't I?" She let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. She then covered a palm to cover her face. She was so close from tears. "Fuck."

"Nat," he frowned as he looked on. He knew he had to say more, he had to. He just didn't know what.

He lied there, halfway from sitting down, watching her trying her best not to look at him and fighting back a tear that threatened to escape her eye. He hated this. He hated the way things are between them right now. It reminded him a lot of the time when they were stuck in a muddy road under heavy rain inside her black Corvette, seven hours after Clint's funeral. They were heading home, to their shared apartment. She said nothing and neither did he. It was the most painful silence in the history of silence, and the fact that her car was stuck in the muddy road made everything worse.

He remembered how she let go of her strong clench on the steering wheel, let out a deep breath she'd been holding, leaned back against her seat and one moment later she was sobbing.

Then she opened the door, stepping onto the massive, wrathful rain, and began pounding on the hood of her car, screaming amidst the loud thunder and lightning.

 _"Hey, hey, hey!"_ He stepped out too, letting his clothes soak and his lips shiver amidst the cold. _"You're not fixing anything!"_ He angrily reached under the car and lifted it, unstucking it from the mud with his strength while she stood there, looking at him with utmost hate. He didn't even know why he was so angry-- come to think of it he didn't have a good reason to be at the time. She just lost her best friend, had to deal with the scrupulous details of the funeral and had to comfort the whole family Clint left behind. The least he could do was hold her;

But of course she didn't want to be held.

He ended up being the one driving them home. It was a long, silent, drive and he hated every second of it with a burning passion.

By 11 p.m that night she already had her things packed and ready at the door.

That night, he watched her leave with his head between his knees, crying with regret.

And now two years had passed and looking at her right now, crying with regret after what she'd done to him and to _them,_ he finally realized that he didn't care what happens or how they'd end up.

He just doesn't want to lose her. Not again.

So he caressed her cheek with his thumb, and pulled her to a kiss.

She didn't fight it. She kissed back.


	37. In Her Web

They rode the boat for several hours across the seas and once they arrived at the mainland, they docked it by the coast of Macapà and Natasha hot-wired the first SUV they saw at the parking lot. With much haste, they loaded the boxes of evidence they gathered, their stolen weapons, and medical supplies. Sam and Nick helped carry Steve into the vehicle. Steve was awake and he insisted he could walk while Sam and Nick ignored him. He ended up sitting in the backseat with Natasha while Nick drove and Sam took shotgun. Steve fell asleep within the first ten minutes of the drive, slumped onto Natasha's shoulder due to the high dose of ibuprofen they've given him.

Brazil wasn't anything new to Natasha or Nick. They've been in and out of this country countless times, they knew every informant there was in town and Natasha had her webs stationed at several different states in the country. The closest one from Macapà was at a small municipality called Mazagão, where immigrants from Morocco resided. Natasha hated this web, simply because it made her stand out in the Moroccan-majority crowd-- but seeing the situation right now, they didn't seem to have much of a choice.

The drive took a little more than half an hour, and once they got to their destination they woke Steve and rushed inside with paranoia.

This web was one of the vastest ones she had, stationed at the suburban part of the small area, and she had stone walls and high gates that concealed the hideout perfectly. There was a parking lot suited for two vehicles, an unkempt, 200 square foot lawn with a mouldy cast stone fountain right outside the front door, and the house itself held three bedrooms, each filled with a single bed. The kitchen's filled with local canned foods, air conditioning worked perfectly fine, and the tap water ran clean. They're all set.

"He'll heal in two weeks, I'll give you that." Sam suggested while he took apart his pistol on the kitchen bar, wiping a piece of cloth all over the surface to clean it.

Natasha walked across the room, peeking a glance at Steve who was already asleep again inside one of the rooms. She gently pulled the door closed. "They'll pick Macapà clean. That takes three, maybe four days, give or take. I barely used my web here, they might not know we're in Mazagão. But it's only an hour drive from Macapà though. Won't take long before they start searching here."

Sam took a gander at her, giving her an annoyed look that was meant to paint her to a corner. He's still angry at her for what happened and he has every right to. Natasha decided to say nothing about it for now-- Nick's orders.

Nick Fury was leaning against the kitchen counter, lips pouted and arms folded across his chest, ruminating in his silence. Natasha noticed it and decided to ask.

"What do you have in mind, Nick?"

He stood still. "James Barnes was with us."

"I'm sorry, what?" Natasha switch confused glances between Nick and Sam, who now fixed his stance uncomfortably and bored a regretful stare at the floor. "The Winter Soldier attacked you? Where? When?"

"No." Sam exhaled. "He was with us, helping us track you down. But Klaue's men took him captive and we think Klaue is trying to sell him to Wilson Fisk."

Natasha raised a brow at the two. "It's a long story." Nick explained. "We'll tell you the rest later."

"Well alright. So... you SURE he's being sold to Fisk?"

Nick squinted. "Seventy percent."

It took Natasha a moment to gather her thoughts. She had a few in mind but she decided to ask just one. "Does Steve know about this?"

"Of course not." Said Sam. "Have you seen him? One more bad news and he cracks."

Natasha began pacing back and forth across the kitchen. Nick's eye followed her like a cat, studying her like a spy would.

"So you're saying..." She paced about anxiously, "we need to go and save him."

The two men didn't say anything, not that Natasha really needed a verbal answer.

"Fisk is a very powerful man."

Nick squinted. "Exactly."

"I've dealt with Fisk--" Her voice faltered. "Not the sort of man you can reason with." She stopped in her tracks and looked at Nick sharply. "We can pull this off but it'll be tricky."

Sam had now finished reassembling his handgun. He slid the magazine case closed with a swift, crackling sound. "First thing's first. We gotta figure out what Klaue really wants right now. Whether he's after us--"

"We killed plenty of his men and we're messing with his illegal business, what do you think he wants?" Natasha cuts off. When Sam's eyes widened with mild resentment directed at her, Nick decided to step in.

"Natasha. That old contact in the city. Can you reach him?"

She bit her lip as she gathered her thoughts around it. "I should be able to. I'll see if I can get a hold of him."

Nick nodded. "We locate Barnes and we locate Klaue, find out what he's up to and only then we decide what to do. Let's not be crass-- being compromised is not an option."

They ended the discussion after that, and decided to spend the rest of the night taking turns in watching over Steve, who mostly slept soundly. When dawn arrived Nick busied himself switching between news channels trying to get an update from the world, while Natasha stood outside just by the front door, staring out to the horrific lawn of her safehouse, smoking a piece of cigarette in peace. She purposedly stacked a few packs in her webs, for times like these.

"Care if I join you?" Sam peeked out the door after sometime and said. He'd never seen her smoke but he didn't seem surprised by it.

"Sure. Uh-- want a cig?" She decided to ignore the oddity to the situation and offered him a half-full box of cigarettes, but he shook his head, inserting his hands in his pockets and puffing out the chilly night air instead. A wall of awkward silence stood between them, waiting for any of them to take it down, any second now.

"Your med stash is out of this world, by the way." Sam started, looking down at the floor and leaning onto the door.

"Yeah? What did you give him?"

"Let's see-- some Oxycontin, Horizant and a couple of Advils."

"Hm." She inhaled deep and relaxedly puffed the smoke out to the night air. Conversation ensues, she thought as she took a deep breath.

"Isn't it a bit cold out here?"

"I like the cold." She then looked at him and bit her lip with trembling doubt. "Sam, I--" Her green eyes met his brown ones, tender under the dim porch light. "Thank you." She sighed. "For everything you've done to help Steve. You don't even have to forgive me for it, I just need to get that off my chest."

He scoffed and leered at her. It was a subtle gesture, and beyond it she could still see the familiar kindness that was the man he's always been. "I only did what I had to do, man. No choice given on that."

She looked away, dropping her cigarette stub to the ground and crushing it with her shoe. "Sorry I cut you off during our discussion back there."

"Nah." He pouted and shook his head, failing miserably at his attempt to sound cold. He was thawing in her sight, and he hadn't realized it just yet. "What about we move on and talk about something else, dollface."

"Okay." She bit her lip to think. "Let's see... where'd you get your med training?"

He shrugged, almost amicably. "Took some serious tolls back in the army. Had to take care of my buddies. When we flew to Afghan, we were ten marines, 7 meds. Six months later I had eight dog tags in my pocket, one medic left alive, and we had injured marines just lying there waiting for a meat wagon in the middle of an active warzone. Jones-- that's his name. Super generic huh? Well, someone had to learn the tropes to help out. He taught me how."

Natasha gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Nat."

She lit up another cigarette, and proceeded to smoke in silence. Sam watched her, as if wanting to say something but he wasn't sure.

"He forgives you huh? Like he always does."

She found herself squinting at the thought of Steve, of how he pulled her to a kiss and she kissed back for a moment before she realized how incredibly stupid that was. She stormed out of the room after and they haven't talked since. "I think so."

"He must love you a whole lot."

"That, we both know don't we?"

"Look, I'm not gonna ask you what happened to you back at the island and all that shit, don't worry about it." He said softly, comforting her. "I've missed you though, Nat. For reals."

The corner of her lips pulled to a confused smile. There it was, a confession she wasn't prepared to hear. "Here I am thinking how much you must hate me."

He scoffed. "I don't, widow. I came all this way to find you both, I'm not gonna let it go to waste for some stupid grudge." He then chuckled ironically, "In all honesty I can barely stay mad at you. I miss your gorgeous ass too much."

Silence. Natasha didn't know what to say next, and neither did Sam.

And then she bursts onto laughter. A gleeful, shameless laugh, and Sam laughed with her. It was something she didn't even know she missed; she couldn't believe how much she missed Sam's humor; she missed the times when he made her laugh with his silly jokes and all those times they spent together skimming over mission files and teasing Captain-America-mode Steve, who would tell them to stay focused whenever Sam cracked a joke. Even back then, when he's mad at her he could never shrug off his sweetness.

"That's your worse pick-up line yet, Wilson."

"That's just because you're playing hard to get."

"Not always." She smiled at him at last.

"Yep, yep. Here's that gorgeous smile. How can anyone stay mad at that smile?"

She threw down her cigarette stub and lit up another one with a smile up her lips. The next time their eyes met his exuberance had subsided, replaced with a serious look.

"For real now, all that stabby-stabby shit over?"

She inhaled smoke onto her lungs and exhaled to get a grip of herself. "Yeah. I hope."

"Alright, let's strike up a deal. You promise not to pull that murderous crap again, I'll work on trying to not hate you."

"Sounds fair to me."

"Now come here and give me a proper hug."

She raised a brow with confusion, but when she realized he was being serious, she awkwardly took a step closer, wrapping her arms around him. It's been a while since the last time she actually hugged someone, and it felt nice. So nice and warm. His arms cradled across her back, and she closed her eyes and exhaled a relieved breath at the feeling.

When they both pulled away, Sam was looking at her with a request, "You're sleeping together right?"

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask me that.

"No!" Sam let out a chuckle. "I meant tonight. You should share his bed."

"Oh. Um, stack together in a single bed? No thank you. I think I'll take the couch."

"Look, all I'm saying is should take the bed so you'll be the first to know if there's an emergency or anything. But if you two are still going through one of y'alls temporary break up thing, then you do you. Heads up though, I'm expecting a good sleep tonight, so don't go knocking on my door."

She pursed her lips to a thin line. "I'll think about it."

"You better."

A thin blow of cold night air swept over them and she hissed, taking in the remnants of cigarette smoke from her now-tiny stub. She could see how the blow made Sam shiver for a moment. "You know you both shouldn't trust me around him. I'm not mentally stable, remember?"

"Neither of us are, Nat. Makes it interesting in my book."

She peered at him and studied the look on his face. He seemed content, stable enough in their given situation. He turned his head to look at her, except he was looking at the cigarette between her fingers curiously, as if he wanted it.

True enough, he asked, "Give me a cig."

She quirked a brow and smirked, but complied anyways without a word. She even lit it up for him. She knew of this, him smoking. She'd seen a pack of Pall Mall sticking out of his pocket one time. She never said anything, though. It wasn't like her to tease people about these kinds of stuff.

He frowned when Marlboro crept into his throat but didn't complain. "Steve would be so furious if he finds out about this."

"Lucky Grandpa America is asleep."

He chortled. "Nah, nah. You know what? You'll be off the hook. I'll be in trouble. Damn favoritism." He counterfeited a pissed grunt and she giggled at him.

She threw her cigarette to the ground, and yet lit up another one. "So, Bucky Barnes, huh?"

Sam's eyes darkened and he let out a sigh. "Yeah."

"Have you asked him to get you a new car or are you two now getting cozy in his bed?"

"Ha-ha. Very funny, Romanoff-- and no, I haven't asked him. Gotta be honest, without all that winter soldier mind control crap, he's an alright guy."

"I look forward to meet him, then."

"Do me a favor, though." He said, and she looked at him, waiting. "Don't tell Steve about him yet."

"Sure thing."

"How can I trust you?"

She scoffed. "What kind of spy do you take me for?"

"One who's banging Captain America?"

"Oh please." She rolled her eyes. "That was ages ago."

"Oh, so you're telling me-- nothing happened when you both were alone in Nick's apartment for two whole weeks, and then spent few days in that Ignatio ship, and then stuck in the island for another two weeks? Nothing?"

"Wilson." She sighed, genuinely uncomfortable with the conversation now. Sam just laughed it off.

"You're full of crap, Romanoff."

"Yeah, and I can kill you in your sleep." She still managed to smile at him, though her eyes were serious now, giving him a clear message of how much she didn't want to talk about it.

Sam smiled smugly. "You're fooling no one, just saying."

She pouted while Sam continued to grin at her.


	38. Normal

_New York City,_

 _September_ _2015._

Steve said he wanted to take her on a _date_.

Natasha scrunched her nose and ruminated on the word for a second, like a foreign tourist hearing an unfamiliar word for the first time.

A date. What's up with that? Were the overnight stays and ramen takeouts in his apartment not enough? Because it was enough for her. Things felt private and safe and she much preferred it that way. When he reasoned that taking her out on a date would make him feel more normal, she felt even more like an alien. She was orphaned as a young girl and spent her whole childhood getting beaten and whipped and abused-- how the hell was she supposed to understand what being normal feels like?

The first person to realize that was Clint. They got into a heated argument over her having to go see a shrink; She lost the fight and he dragged her to sit through tedious weekly sessions with a pathetic spinster with saggy cheeks and baggy eyes who'd always looked like she'd rather be anywhere else than counsel her. _"A waste of money,"_ she says, but like it or not Clint was a rock-headed asshole who sadly cares about her way too much, so she listened to him anyways.

She had stopped seeing the shrink now, with Clint's permission, of course; and as years went by she had learned how to cope with the triggers and occassional breakdowns. She'd have her 'moments', from time to time, but it was never anything big, and it had never become a problem. Nobody else knew about it and no one else has ever had to endure being within her proximity long enough for them to notice something's wrong.

Until Steve came along.

Well, three nights ago she found him wondering why is it that she never _bled_. He found it odd how they've been sleeping together for over a month now and she never asked him to use protection, never took any contraceptives, and first and foremost she hadn't had her period yet.

 _"How does it work for you girls? Do you need to see a doctor? Is this normal?"_ His blue eyes stared her down with profound concern and innocence.

She should've seen it coming; Steve wasn't a complete fool, even when it comes to stuff he doesn't normally know about. He told her that Sam usually shared stories about how much of a bummer it was when the women he wanted to sleep with was on their period.

But that's not even the worst part. The worst part was when his eyes lit up when he said, "Are you pregnant?"

He didn't mean to show his excitement. She's pretty sure he didn't even realize how happy he sounded when he said it. They've only _officially_ been _together_ for a month-- _talk about moving too fast_. This was a discussion she had hoped she could delay for another few months. She never even told him she loved him yet.

She'd never even thought about things that far.

Her breathing hitched and her ribcage tightened around her heart and lungs. She had to take a pause before she could say anything. A memory from her _graduation_ _ceremony_ popped into her mind almost immediately and she clenched hard on her fists with all her strength to not break down in front of him. Once she calmed down, she opened her mouth to speak.

When she told him she was infertile, his face fell.

It felt like a deadly blow to her chest.

She should've seen that coming, too. She noticed how ecstatic he becomes whenever they pass by a toddler or a baby in public. _"Look, a baby! Look at how fat she is!"_ Natasha would smile at him and agree. They'd walk over to those random people and ask them if they would let Steve hold the baby for a moment. Those people never said no. They were more than happy to see Captain America holding their baby.

Point is, he didn't have to make a direct statement about it:

He wants a family someday. He wants something _traditional_ , something serious, something _normal._

And that, is something she could never give him.

She swallowed her pain away and kept it in, not wanting to scare him off with a breakdown. They tried to ignore the subject that night. They ordered Chinese for dinner and settled for a random movie on Netflix; the movie was terrible, but the silence between them was worse. Neither of them initiated to reach for the remote and pick another movie, much less suggest another activity, though. Those cheesy lines and bad acting was way better than complete silence they were bound to endure once the TV's switched off.

And then she saw him looking at her, with that loving eyes, mixed with a tad bit of dissappointment. He wanted to fix this, she's sure. She stayed where she sat on the couch, not physically responding despite the obvious signal. A few moments later he was right next to her, running his fingers through her hair and pressing his lips onto her neck, kissing and nipping softly with an awkward motion.

"Do you want this?" He whispered within an intake of breath, as if she needed a heads-up. The simple question, though, felt like it asked more than the obvious. It almost sounded like he was saying, _"have you given up on us yet? or do you want to try again? Please let us try again."_

 _I don't._ She wanted to say but she didn't say it. She just turned her head so their lips could meet, foolishly hoping her mood would turn around and her anxiety would dissappear. He took it as a yes, and so he kissed her deeply, as if digging through any emotion left he had for her. She played along, compliant and silent for now. The movie was still on, its characters pronouncing a love speech or something. She tried to listen carefully, an effort to distract her mind from the complete uneasiness of this embrace.

She ended up naked and pinned under him anyways, though. He didn't force her to, and she couldn't exactly come up with a reasonable excuse as to why she would want to run away so bad without telling him that she was in fact, mentally unstable.

She wanted to fix _them._ Maybe not as determined as he was, but even she had to admit that what they _ha_ _ve_ \-- it was something that would be immensely painful to cut loose.

The kiss was sloppy and odd, and he pressed into her with a halfhearted, messy rhythm, and she closed her eyes, clenching onto the sofa's back fighting the urge to cancel this whole thing.

"Wait, Steve--" She said when she couldn't take it anymore, and he pulled away from her lips and slowed down. "Stop it. Just... stop."

"You want me to stop?" He frowned breathlessly and she nodded. He listened though, being the gentleman he was.

She pressed a palm on his sweaty chest and pushed him away. He pulled out of her and sat on the edge of the couch, while she dragged herself to sit down, running her fingers through her tangled hair. She looked over to him with guilt. "I'm sorry-- Let me-- let me finish you off."

He shook his head and pursed his lips while his palm covered his face and his fingers massaged his temple fretfully. "No." He murmured.

He got up from the couch and picked up their scattered clothes, every single one of them, a distraction from having to see the look on her face. "You could've told me you didn't want it, Nat."

"I wanted to fix this. Like you do."

He looked at her with a sigh as he handed her clothes back. "I know."

She told him that she wanted to go home that night and he looked at her with desperation in his eyes. He kept begging her to stay, but she firmly said no.

Well, today he turned up at her door, wrapped in a moss green coat, asking for forgiveness and telling her that he'd like to take her out on a date.

She weighed on the odds and decided to say yes, no matter how uncomfortable this whole thing made her feel.

So took her out he did.

He took her to a cafe by the river, looking out to the night view of Manhattan. They stayed indoors, though, for the night air outside was too cold. He ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of cheeseke and offered her hot cocoa. She smiled at that, her mind drifting back to the year of 2013. "Yeah, I'd like that." She said, her cheeks flushed by both the cold and the sweetness of the memory.

The opening conversation after that, unfortunately, was nothing sort of an icebreaker:

"About what happened, in the apartement--" He began with a sharp inhale.

"It's nothing, Steve. Let's pretend it never happened." She cuts off curtly.

"Okay." He looked down to the table and the conversation died down to a cold, tense silence.

"Are you okay?" He asked her after a while, hating how quiet she's become all the sudden. She kept looking around at the people sitting on the other tables, as if expecting a familiar foe to turn up.

"Yeah." She bit her lip and looked at him. "It's just that-- I've never been to an actual date before."

The space between his forehead creased with confusion. "We've gone out together a million times before--"

"But they're on a different context. Missions and undercover jobs. When we go out as friends we go to quieter places. More secluded. And now we're not even friends-- uh. I don't know."

He began to look around, too, guilt began to come sweeping in his innocent blue eyes. "Do you wanna go somewhere else then? Somewhere quiet?"

She let out a sigh. _Your apartment,_ she wanted to say but she refrained from doing so. In a way she didn't want to dissappoint him. He had wanted this for a while, she was even willing to bet that he probably had this written down on his bucket list or something.

She shook her head in a tiny, humble motion. "No. Let's stay."

"You sure?" His tone was still heavy with concern but she could see his eyes light up a little.

"Yeah." She smiled at him, using her exceptional aptitude for lying to appease him. This was in fact the very first time she lied to him. She's not proud.

A waiter turned up and served them their order, saving Natasha from having to come up with something to say. The waiter and the food distracted Steve for a bit, made him dig into the cheesecake and sip down his coffee. He liked it mixed with milk, she learned that within weeks of sleeping over and messing on his bed. She preferred hers black. One time he complained about how bitter her mouth tasted when he kissed her. She laughed at him and made a sexual joke about him having to kiss her somewhere else-- she loved how red his face got after that.

"So...Coulson wanted me to take this job," he stifled a cough as he began.

Coulson. That resurrected bastard. Nat remembered how she slapped him on the face when he revealed himself and explained that he was now the new director of a brand-new, underground SHIELD.

"What job?" She took a sip of her hot cocoa and licked her lip. It was pretty good, not the best but close.

"A rescue-op in Uganda. I'm leaving tomorrow noon."

She nodded. "Okay."

"So uh, that's why I wanted to take you out."

"Cos you're leaving?"

"Yeah and because, you know--" his cheeks flushed red. Boyscout Steve Rogers. She always wondered how she managed to fall in love with someone like him.

She shifted where she sat and tried not to stare him down. "Because you need to feel a little bit of normalcy. A picket-white fence and a sweet dame with a wriggling baby to go home to, but since you can't have _that_ , this is the closest alternative."

His jaw stiffened upon hearing what she had said. She kept her eyes to her lap, realizing that what she had said-- though true, was better left unsaid.

"Nat don't be like that." His voice hummed low, his eyes darkened. There wasn't anger in the way he looked-- there was just sadness and a dissappointment that lingered in her mind.

"I shouldn't have said yes, should I?" She scoffed as she leaned back in her chair.

Steve toyed with the cheesecake to comfort himself. His breathing intensified, and he fought the urge to raise his voice in front of all these people. "So do you wanna go home?"

He'd forgot that he was talking with world's best human behavior expert:

"You just wanna find somewhere more suitable for us to fight in." She said analytically.

"No one wants a public display."

"I wasn't trying to pick a fight" She leaned forward. "I was saying the truth."

"But your tone--"

"It doesn't fucking matter what tone I used!"

"Please don't swear." He leaned forward too, his words coming out through gritted teeth.

"Don't change the subject--"

"Natasha tonight was going so well!"

"Yeah, for you. You just want me to keep my mouth shut and sit here like a loving future wife, like your World War buddies would do."

"I just wanted us to have a nice time! To fix our--"

"See? This is why we don't talk to each other. You're only useful when your mouth's shut."

His mouth parted with disbelief, his blue eyes were apalled with betrayal, "Is that the only thing I'm good for? Sex?"

She shrugged dismissively. "Might as well be."

Her answer struck him to a complete silence. She stole a furtive glance at him, observing how hurt he looked right now. She felt terrible for everything she just said, but at the same time she felt relieved; she'd been wanting to say this for a while.

"I should go." She began reaching into her purse and pulled out a $20 bill. He was still sitting there when she stormed out the door, onto the chilly night air of New York in mid September.

She almost thought he won't go after her.

But of course he did.

He came sprinting towards her direction, calling her name and begging for her to at least let him give her a ride home.

She bit her lip but said yes. The motorcycle ride was unbearable as the night air had grown colder the later the night went, so they ended up seeking shelter in her apartment, which was closer from the Manhattan bridge.

That night was in fact the very first time he entered her apartment.

He looked around like a curious, innocent puppy, frowning here and there at the lack of personal clutter this place held. No posters, no pictures, no collection of anything, no decorations, no nothing on display. Just a plain, less than homey apartment space filled with efficient necessities like kitchenware and cupboards full of medicines.

When he followed her to her bedroom and met her eyes, she knew he finally started to understand.

"You're the second person I've ever brought to this place." She said, hugging herself out of discomfort. He still hadn't said anything, and she's not sure whether or not that was a good thing. "The first being Clint."

His fingers gently brushed over the plain white sheets of her bed while his countenance frowned with contemplation.

"I think I should let you know that I didn't mean it when I said I only wanted you for the sex."

He glanced up at her, his face calm and more relaxed. "I know." He nodded. "But I also know that you meant everything else you said, though."

To that she had to look away. They were standing on the opposite sides of the bed, awkward and confused.

"Am I really that assertive?" He asked, genuinely wondering and burdened with guilt. "Look, I've never done this before and I don't even know if it's too soon to talk about it but I don't mind--" his lips trembled slightly. "...with-- with, the children thing." He rubbed his palm over the nape of his neck uncomfortably. "I don't want you to feel like you're obligated to-- you know."

She squinted. Her voice was incredibly quiet when she said, "You're lying."

He looked back at her as he searched for something to say. He chewed on the inside of his cheek while his arms folded across his chest, uncertainty apparent in his eyes now.

"Look around you." She took a deep breath and braced herself for her next words. "This place is who I am. I'm not someone who has the leisure to own a _personal_ life. I'm not good with the concept of family; I can't have children and I'll never be able to. I have issues-- trust issues and panic attacks and-- I can barely handle myself already, Steve. I can't put all that _burden_ on _you_. There's no future with me. Not one you'd want anyway."

This time he really found himself lost for words. He weakly leaned back against the wall, sighing while looking down to his feet. He would be lying if he said he was perfectly fine with what being with her would cost; a wife and children and a home. He knew he was being a bit unrealistic whenever he dreamed of that, but if Clint could do it, why can't he?

When he looked up again he found her green eyes looking at him, analytical and cold. " Next time when you want someone to warm your bed, give me a call. Otherwise, well..." She shrugged casually, almost as if there was no emotion involved, but he knew better. He knew she was hurting as much as he was. She's just very good at pretending.

"I'm not that kind of a man."

That's where she sighed heavily. "I know."

He pursed his lips to a thin line, trying with all his might to mask his dissappointment. "So that's it then? It's over?"

She didn't need to say anything back. She gave him one look, and he nodded, though he hadn't had the heart to turn away and leave.

He stood there uneasily, taking in all these heavy realization with every breath he took. He kept feeling as if something's wrong; that leaving her-- ending this, was a complete mistake. How long have they been sleeping together? What, a month? A month. Yet he felt like they've been together for much longer; those cozy times they traded stories on the roof, the stressful nights when they worked together and build plans for missions. The stolen looks they'd give each other from time to time, the three crazy days when HYDRA took over and they became fugitives and had to stay at Sam's place. He'd never felt like this towards anyone before, never felt so drawn to anyone like he felt towards her. All these events, all these years they spent knowing each other, felt like a buildup for something bigger, and now that he had it, he didn't want to lose it.

Maybe it's the way her body looks, or maybe the way she moves and speaks, and maybe it's her secrets and her sharp eyes or her low, sultry voice. Or maybe it's her sweet side, a caring personality that lies within layers and layers of ice cold masks.

Whatever it was, he had gone too far, fallen to deep, that he didn't want to turn back.

All that couldn't be for nothing, right? It has to mean something.

"To be perfectly honest I think you should just move in with me." He's said it out loud, out of the blue, and he had no intention of taking it back.

Her mouth parted with surprise. "What?"

He nodded. "You heard me. Pack your bags, get them to my place. You're barely here anyways these past few weeks."

"But what we just talked about--"

"I know." He nodded. "I know, Nat--"

"You don't seem to understand. You were _leaving._ This, this isn't some spontaneous decision you could make." She crossed the bed and took a step closer to him to study his face and stance. Everything about this confused her.

"I don't want us apart. I don't want to leave _this_ all behind. I--"

"You have no idea how delusional you sound--"

"Let's not think about that. Let's take what we have, when we have it."

"We'll never be _normal_ , Steve."

"I know. But think about it for a second. We both want it -- we can try. We can always try, Nat." He reached for her, pulling her close by the waist and seeking her eyes.

"But the baby thing, and starting a family..." Her voice faltered, her eyes looking away to the empty wall.

He took a deep breath and accepted a little sting in his heart as he said, "That's just the price I'm willing to take."

When she finally braced herself to look at him, she had fear and concern in her eyes. "You're one crazy, reckless son of a bitch."

He just chuckled and rolled his eyes at that.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into." She warned when his thumb stroke over her lips, asking for permission.

"Neither do you." He leaned in and kissed her. The kiss felt right, and the tingles in his skin and his accelerated heartbeat ensured him that whatever this is, he should be here to live it. He'd rather be chasing her than go after a mist of a dream that he never even thought for sure could come true, right?

They decided to spend the night at her apartment. He was lying on her bed, already dressed down to nothing but a pair of navy blue briefs when he looked over to the open bathroom door and saw her standing in front of the sink, a toothbrush stuck between her teeth and a bathrobe draped down to just below her knees. She noticed him staring and flashed him a smile.

The warmth in his heart from the smile couldn't be a lie, so, yes _. This_ , he told himself, is worth leaving his old dreams behind.

Crazy? Maybe. Reckless? Definitely. But it feels right.

It feels right.


	39. Cough Syrup

"Nick?" Natasha asked softly as she placed a palm on the old man's shoulder. She reached for the remote control and turned the TV screen off.

Nick had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the TV, snoring quietly out of exhaustion. Natasha shook his shoulder a few times as she called his name.

When Nick woke, the old man was fully alarmed and he anxiously looked around for any danger. When he realized it was only Natasha, he leaned onto the felted couch's back, let out a yawn and murmured, "Natasha." He blinked sleepily. "What happened? What time is it? Are you okay?"

"It's 2 a.m, I'm okay and... I'll take the couch, old man." She smiled soothingly. Nick already had a disapproving look on his face.

"No, no. There's no need. There's an empty bed, you should take it."

"Well that's sweet, but I'm not the one who's gonna complain about my sore back in the morning."

Nick rolled his eyes stubbornly but didn't say anything back.

"Now come on, _dad_. Up you go." She softly tugged on his hands. His good eye widened in the dark, surprised by the nickname. Natasha just smiled at him and gave him a tap on the back. "Come on, Nick."

It took a few seconds before Nick started to sleepily get up and followed her into the empty bedroom.

"Now don't you get soft on me, Romanoff." The former director sighed as he sat down on the bed and Natasha was halfway from exiting the room.

"Yeah. Well, sleep tight." She smirked as she shut the door.

Once she was out of his sight, she closed her eyes and straightened her lips, tired of smiling and pretending.

She missed Sam, she loves Nick-- all that is true, but not for one second it made her pain go away. She played the game very well, stood composed and ever-so-professionally discussed things with them, laughed whenever she had to and smiled a lot to convince them that she's okay;

Everything was play pretend.

Alone in the dominating darkness, she exercised her deep breaths and went to her medicine cabinet only to stare emptily at the pill labels, and a few moments later she was holding a whole bottle of cough syrup, thinking of gulping it whole and drug herself to eternal peace. She was in the middle of twisting the cap open right when she stopped.

She didn't know why.

 _Stay alive,_ she told herself. _Breathe. Keep breathing._

She set the bottle down and forced herself to take more deep breaths and steady her heartbeat.

 _If Clint was here he'd know what to do._ She groaned as the thought entered her mind. Why is she thinking about Clint again? _You're over that, Nat. You were fine. You're stable, you're manageable._

The painful mind twister that happened back at the island? its remnants still stayed within her, dormant but visible. She dropped herself on the couch, lying there and staring at the ceiling as she set her contained thoughts loose, not pretending anymore now that there's no one to see her break.

Clint would know what to say; he always did.

How he always managed to come up with sharp quips and witty jokes was beyond her. She picked up some of that from him over the years, but the shadow of gloom that always followed her everywhere has always limited her from being someone as lively as he was. He was _so_ good at cheering her up, at cheering everyone up.

 _"Get your ass off the couch, Nat."_ Sounds like something he'd say.

She got up and searched through the wardrobe just outside the guest bathroom, where she found herself a black tank top and a pair of comfy shorts to go to bed with. There were also male clothes in there, seems like some of them could fit Steve. These clothes belonged to a fellow agent who stayed with her one time at this place. He died, a gunshot through the heart. Natasha never got to know him that well. He was friendly, though.

She returned to the couch and placed a worn out pillow and a wooly blanket for her to lie down. She knew sleep was impossible, but there's no harm in making herself more comfortable anyways.

Her mind drifted to the time when she moved in with Steve. He would pull her close and wrap his arms around her during her breakdowns; he'd plant kisses all over her face, and he'd tell her how much she meant to him. He'd stay up all night to keep her company, no matter how long a day was he going to have in the morrow.

She needs him right now.

She took heavy steps and checked on the sleeping Steve to make sure everything's in place; the IV stand, the bloodbag, his meds and a glass of water at the nightstand. She stood by his side for a moment, observing how peaceful he looked asleep. She didn't have the heart to wake him up. She touched her own lips as she remembered the kiss he gave her down at the cabin. How dry his lips felt, but also how sweet his lips tasted.

 _Fuck._

 _There he lies, a weak vegetable, thanks to YOU, Natasha._

 _YOU did this._

She hurriedly exited the room and lied on the couch again, panting. _Why did you kiss back?_

 _Why did you pull away?_

 _What do you REALLY want, Natasha?_

She replayed the whole scene again. He pulled her to a kiss, and she kissed back. Their lips fit together so perfectly, at least until she felt her stomach grumble and her head spinning, overwhelmed.

 _"Nat. Nat! Wait!"_ He exclaimed with surprise when she stormed out of the room. Sam looked down at her from the balcony with curiosity but didn't say anything, Nick didn't even know what was going on. He was busy taking the wheel. She spent the whole boat ride shaking in her stance; trembling lips and cold sweat.

Now she lied there on the couch, sealing her eyes shut with force. _Breathe and think_ , she mulled over as she looked back on everything that has happened. _I'm out of the island. I'm out._ She bit her lip. _Steve's alive. Nick is here. Sam forgives you. You're okay, Nat. You're okay._

The kiss replayed again in her head.

 _Steve._

They haven't talked about it, not that Steve's awake enough to. They have to, eventually, like it or not. The thought alone pried her eyes open, got her staring at the empty, white, cracky ceiling again and all of the sudden she just felt horrible. _Am I a jerk for bailing like that? Am I?_

Her senses heightened and she stood up abruptly when she heard a set of rattling noises from Steve's room. She stood up and rushed there, only to find Steve standing upright, his injured hand holding onto his IV stand and the other leaning against the wall. He looked so innocent-- somewhat reminded her of the way he used to look before there was a them, before she corrupted him with all the negativity and stripped him away off his blank slate.

His eyes widened under the dim light. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"What are you doing?" She hurried towards him and helped him stand straight, worried and scared for him. "You shouldn't even be standing!"

"I just need to..." he smiled sheepishly, "...pee. I can handle myself I promise." He looked right at her with his _boisterous_ chivalry-- a horrible one at that, which consisted of him practically holding onto the wall everytime he took a step.

She felt a pang in her heart.

Look what you've done. Another thought crossed her mind.

She gave off an unrelenting breath and opened the bathroom door for him. She held onto him as he took his steps, still weak but steadier than she had expected.

Once he stood by the toilet bowl, she turned away and stood by the door, giving him privacy.

"Um- Nat?" He said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"I've only got one functional hand and uh-- I-- nevermind." He took a sigh and flushed.

She turned around anyways. It's not like she'd never seen him naked before. His pants were down, and he seemed to be having a hard time sliding it back on since he couldn't actually bend down to reach it. He shut the toilet lid and turned around to sit down-- with hard effort that made her frown.

"Hey, don't do that. Here." She walked up to him and knelt to slip his pants back on. His cheeks were rosy and his whole face burned bright red. She looked up at him with a smile that was barely there, holding back an inescapable chuckle as she slid up his black boxers. These boxers were new-- a raided item, she presumed, from one of the ships. "Oh relax. You've seen me kneel from this angle multiple times, Captain." She pulled up his trousers next then got up and zipped him up, though she avoided his eyes.

Teasing him was easy, facing her actual feelings for him was not.

They stood there in silence, frustratingly close from one another that they could feel the heat radiating from each other's bodies, but neither of them knew what to say. She retracted her hands from the top of his buttoned trousers and bit her lip, eyes darted to the patch of gauze on top of his heart, the other one that was plastered across his abs, around his tricep, and all over his lower arm. Fresh gauzes. Sam or Nick must've replaced them.

"Guess we should get you back to bed." Her lips thinned awkwardly. She helped him walk back to the bedroom and settled him for bed, one wobbly step at a time. He didn't say anything, and neither did she. He just kept looking at her the way he always does and though it bothered her, she found herself speechless and so weak under his stare that she withdrew the desire to say anything. She liked having him around _right now_ , though she would never admit it to his face. She felt safe. Safe from herself, safe from her own treacherous thoughts.

"Thank you." He said with a tender voice when she pulled the blanket to cover him all the way to his chest, and his low, gravelly voice soothed her, making her lips tremble. There was a pause before she said:

"No need to thank me, Steve. I'm the one who did this to you." She still tried avoiding his eyes.

"Nat." She felt another shiver ran along her spine at the mention of her name. "I thought we were over that discussion." He kept looking at her, encouraging her to look back at him.

She didn't answer. She just pulled away and exited the room, though Steve's next words made her pause at the door:

"You know, smoking's bad for you."

"That's none of your business." And with that she returned to the living room, fighting her way to sleep, turning every so often whenever the tiny, valiant voice inside her encouraged her to go back up to his room and ask _kindly_ if she could sleep next to him, for her own sake.

 _Even Sam suggested that. Go on, Nat. Just go there and ask him._

In the end, she didn't take the chance. Or, she didn't have to.

Because the night was far from over.

The second time she had to get up from the couch, it was due to the sound of something breaking, and she found Steve sitting by the side of the bed, holding his glass of water, which was now completely empty. A jar of pills has spilled, and its contents were now scattered all around the floor.

"I'm so sorry." He blurted out with an exasperated gasp . "You can go back to sleep, I'll clean this up."

Of course she didn't listen. She entered the room and picked up the scattered pills, one by one, dropping them back in the jar while he sat there, remorseful and abashed. The first time he offered to help she barked at him and told him to just sit still. Truth be told she wasn't even slightly pissed at him-- she was glad. Glad that he was giving her an excuse to stop forcing herself to sleep, even if it's only for a little while.

 _But look what you've done to him. He's damaged goods. Thanks to you, Natasha._

 _You've got blood on your hands. All. Over. Again_.

"I'm sorry to trouble you." He said right when she was setting the jar back at the nightstand.

She tucked strands of her messy hair behind her ear and folded her arms defensively, creating an invisible barrier to keep herself together. _Don't show him how messed up you are. You don't want to be more of a burden than you already are._

"It's okay, Steve." She faked a smile and he bought it.

"There's uh-- there's actually something else that I might need your help with." He pursed his lips together and stared up at her with a bright, visible blush all over his cheeks. The blush made the light graze on his right cheek even more visible, and Natasha wanted to squirm with self loathe everytime she was reminded of how much she has injured him. She showed none of that, of course. She just raised a brow and waited.

"I'm really hungry. You've got food in this place, right? This is the last time I'm asking for help-- I promise. I won't bother you again."

She took a deep breath, placing her fingers between her nosebridge and began to massage her tense nerves there, indecisive whether or not it was chore. Yes, having him around would mean that she would refrain from doing something stupid to herself, but at the same time she didn't want him to see how broken she was right now.

 _What do you want then, Natasha? To see him? To not see him?_

"It's fine, Steve. It's more than fine."

She helped him walk out of the room, holding onto him while he dragged his IV stand along with him and told him to wait at the kitchen bar while she cooked up instant rice and canned tuna for him. He was starving, judging from the way he finished his food; she had to tear open three different tuna cans and five packs of rice before he finally told her enough.

"Aren't you hungry?" He said with his mouth half full while she stood across from him, leaning by the stove and staring down at the floor.

"It's three in the morning, so, no." She folded her arms across her chest, shielding herself away and chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep herself together.

"I'm starved." He hummed in delight as he took another spoonful of rice and tuna. There was _something_ about his tone, though. Something that suggested suspicion-- something weighty.

"I can see that." She bit her lip and tried to assess the situation in silence.

A few moments of silence passed, and then she noticed how his gaze fell upon something at the edge of the kitchen, prompting her to look onto that direction as well.

 _Oh shit._

 _The cough syrup._

"Who has a cold?" He asked, and judging from his tone, she knew it was all bluff. He'd _seen_ that bottle right when they came in the premises.

The air in the room suddenly dropped to a freezing chill.

 _There goes your neatly acted facade, Natasha._

Her walls crumbled, while her lips parted speechlessly for a very brief before she found the right thing to say. "Nick--"

"Oh Nick? He seemed fine to me." He wasn't even going to let her speak at this point. Her lies would convince almost anyone, but certainly not him. Not right now.

"You haven't seen him--"

"I've seen YOU." He glowered. He set his spoon down and wiped his mouth with his uninjured forearm, his blue eyes dark and serious under the white kitchen lightbulb. When he made indication of wanting to get up, she rushed towards him to prevent him from doing something reckless.

"You're not fit for standing yet, Steve. Please."

He didn't really pay attention. His eyes were set on her wrists, checking for marks.

She let out a sigh. "There's no cut. I swear." When he pulled her wrist to get a closer look, she groaned. "I swear to god."

"Natasha," he let himself exhale in relief, his healthy hand squeezing hers tightly, "what were you thinking? Tell me you didnt drink it!" When she didn't answer he looked up at her with budding frustration. "Tell me--"

"I didn't." She mumbled, closing her eyes as she battled with her own demons, telling her to turn away from him with shame.

"Gosh, Nat." He dropped his head forward, sinking his nose onto her chest and held her close, his voice slightly muffled as he went on, "Don't scare me like that."

She froze and gulped. It was a battle of pride and she was losing against herself. She _hated_ the vulnerability it rendered her, but she loved the heat-- the touch. Just the idea of his skin brushing against hers-- it thrills her.

 _Surrender. Let yourself be held._

 _Surrender, Nat._

Her hand was shaking when she fearfully reached around him and ran her fingers along his messy hair. It felt greasy between her fingers, but familiar and smooth. She closed her eyes and let out a relieved sigh, dropped her chin to the top of his head and tried to adjust her breathing. Over and over again until the pace calmed down.

"We should talk about everything." He suggested, staring up at her with a discerned look when she pulled away from the hug.

"Now?" She asked, letting his hand linger on the small of her back, squeezing protectively ever so lightly.

His eyes scanned around the room, looking for ideas. "Are you in the mood for TV?"

She let out a bitter scoff, admiring this new, unexpected approach. "Sure."

The TV was switched back on. They sat in silence through some weather forecast, saying that there's 70% chance of rain in the morning. She sat at the far end of the couch, he sat in the other. She could make out from her peripheral vision that he kept stealing glances at her, as if waiting for a reaction while he switched between random channels. She knew that Portuguese was never his strong suit, but he didn't complain. He didn't care about what's on TV anyways; not as much as he cared about what's going on with her.

It's been a while since the last time she allowed herself to watch TV; the world news, now that she watched it, provided no gain to their situation whatsoever. An earthquake, a corrupt politician, a suicide bomber and some homicide. No news about SHIELD or the American government, no coverage about them, the two missing Avengers.

"Do you think they've stopped looking for us?" She asked rhetorically, just because. It was a bitter truth, scary but at the same time comforting to not find their faces all over the news anymore.

"We went out of the radar for a whole month. They've got nothing new on us for the time being."

Her eyes stayed focus on the bright screen, her gaze cold and empty. "It's September now. Can you believe that? It was still July when we hid in Hell's Kitchen."

"It was September when we first moved in together." He said, reminiscing.

She braced herself to look at him. He was staring emptily at the TV, understanding nothing that the news anchor was saying.

"You're living in the past, captain."

"So are you." He took a deep breath and let out a mild groan as he readjust his posture. When he noticed she was looking at him, guilt-ridden, he gave her a serious look. "What was the cough syrup all about?"

She shook her head, reluctant to share.

"Nat." He pleads.

"I can't-- I can't seem to let anything go." She blurted, quiet and trembling.

"Let what go?" He looked back to his lap, thinking what to say next to get her to talk. She kept her lips sealed, unable to continue. "How you attack me back at the island? Is that it?"

She looked away, back at the TV. A game show was on now, something that looked like a Brazilian version of Jeopardy. One of the hosts did something silly and she chortled, smiling wholeheartedly for a moment there. Steve watched her, admiring from where he sat. She wasn't going to say anything, so it had to be him. He had to say something.

"Was it the kiss? Is that what puts you off? Did I--"

"I just-- I wasn't ready." She cuts off, firm and short. She looked at him to explain while he waited. "I can't look at you without thinking of what you looked like back there, all bloody and unconscious. _My_ blade, Steve. It was _my blade_."

"Look at me, Nat. I'm fine now. I'm perfectly fine."

"I keep feeling like any moment now I'm gonna wake up as a murderous zombie and I'd hurt you again."

"But that's not you." He insisted, repeating his argument back in the boat cabin. "Maybe it has something to do with what those scientists gave you on the ship. The serums, maybe some of them took a toll on you."

She flinched stubbornly. "I don't know, Steve. What if it's not? What if it was all me?"

"Point is, we don't know enough to draw conclusions yet."

She folded her knees on the couch and hugged them close to her chest. "It doesn't matter what caused it. I did it. What's done is done."

His forehead creased with concern. "Nat--"

"Yesterday was 2009." She cuts him off, and he sealed his lips shut, confused but patient for her next words. "Clint was with me--" she scoffed, smiling uneasily, "--I can recite every single thing he said that day. But then 2016 was yesterday too and feels like-- he died yesterday." She looked down to her lap, seemingly saying nonsense but Steve just sat there, waiting for her to get to a point that would get him to understand. " You and I... are in a hotel at Chicago, sleeping next to each other for the first time after a tiring convention. You had that Armani perfume on. Your neck tasted bitter when I kissed it." Then her green eyes darted to his, with tremendous pain and grief. "But I can cry right fucking now, cause I'm in the car, and it's raining hard outside, and we're going home from his funeral. And you just killed him, when you could've killed me-- but you won't, because you love me too much."

He was baffled, still not sure if he understood everything, but realized that he started to understand her pain. He couldn't move, though; They've reached a discussion point they've never reached before-- a _forbidden_ conversation they've avoided all this time.

"I feel everything at the same time." She said it with a flat tone, so flat and emotionless that it covered her pain so perfectly. He could only see tints of it in the speckles of her green eyes under the dim light from the noisy TV, but it was enough. Enough to make him understand. "Everything's coming back --and it just keeps going on, and on, and on. I don't know how much longer I can take this, Steve."

His stare hardened. "You want to end it."

"No, I want to turn back time and save him, but that would be _highly_ unrealistic."

"Trade his life for yours? Is that it?"

She didn't answer.

He looked away, guilt clouded over his face and seeped into his bloodstream, making his heart beat harder against his ribcage and the horrific memories to reply in his head. Leaving Clint-- watching Bucky fall. Baggage of the past that he'll never forget. "But you won't let me die either, Nat." He spoke, his voice raw and sore. "I was bleeding to death. You couldn't let me die--so why should I be okay with letting you die, too?"

"Because you're a hero." She answered easily, like she's practiced the sentence her whole life. "I'm not."

"No." He muttered, his gaze pierced at hers like a sharpened blade. "It's because of your feelings for me."

She didn't deny it. "But I mess up too many times, Steve. _Look at you._ "

"I'll heal, Nat."

"Well Clint won't. He has a _family_ he needs to go home to. I have no one."

"You can't expect someone to make a perfect decision when the lives of their loved ones are at stake." He sighed, finally letting it all go, every thought he's had of the situation-- everything he held back from telling her. "Clint died, and if I could save you both I _would_ \-- but I'm glad I chose you because-- it means that you're still be here. And you are."

She didn't answer. She hugged her legs tighter and chewed on the inside of her cheek timidly, not even looking at hin.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should've been the one who jumped in there so you and Clint could escape." The sentence made her look at him, disapproving and still stubborn. He just smiled, wholehearted but bitter. "You keep saying that you have no one, but that's not true. You've got a brother, and a father who'd gladly beat me up if I ever wrong you--" his eyes darted towards the guestrooms closed doors, where Nick was sleeping. "And you're a good aunt. A really good one." He chortled as memories come floating back, the good times when Clint would invite them over to his house and how they'd spend time with his kids, just goofing around the balmy farmland.

"Peggy's dead, Nat." His smile dissappeared and he looked at her again when he said it. "Bucky's--" he took a deep breath, "I don't even know where he is. Sam? He's a great wingman but I'm pretty sure he'll be alright without me. You're all I've got. One person who'd miss me."

Her silence remained, but the look on her face changed. Her eyes widened with revelation, guilt, and something else he couldn't decipher. Maybe it was love, or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was something more profound; sincere but abstruse.

"I wouldn't want you gone." Was the first thing she said. Her voice flowed low, calm with a trace of sadness. "Doesn't matter if I'm dead or alive, I want you to live on."

"Don't expect me to think differently about you, then."

She made a tiny gesture, a small, accepting nod. It felt fair, at least for now. She then bit her lip with a frown, "So what do we do now?"

The corner of his lip quirked up to a smile, and he turned to look at the TV for a moment, staring at the game show host who was saying something to one of the show's participants. He noticed how Natasha's eyes fell upon him, tender and loving. He couldn't remember the last time she looked at him that way. He missed it.

"You can't sleep, can you?" He turned his head and met her eyes.

"Nope." She bit her lip and shook her head.

"Sleep next to me tonight?"

Her her lips folded inward and she frowned. "I don't know, Steve. I couldn't even take a kiss."

"I promise I won't try anything." When she squinted at him, he tried to convince her again. "On my honor."

It took a while, but she finally nodded and got up from the couch and walked up to him:

"Alright.""


End file.
